LIBRARY  OF  PRINCETON 


JUL     6  200 


THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


BX9855  .B7  1879 

Brown,  Howard  N.  (Howard 

Nicholson) ,  1849-1932. 

Sunday  stories  /  by  Howard 

N. 

Brown 


;  ^l^':!4Mm::k:^2i 


LIBRARY  OF  PRINCETON 


JUL      6 


THEOLOGICALSEMINARY 


SUNDAY    STORIES. 


BY 

Rev.   HOWARD   N.   BROWN. 


BOSTON: 
LOCKWOOD.    BROOKS    AND    COMPANY. 

1879. 


Copyi-iglit,    1879, 

BY   LOCKWOOD,    BROOKS    AND   COMPANY. 


PREFATORY    NOTE. 

The  following  pages  are  taken  from  discourses  of  the  Rev.  Howard 
N.  Brown,  of  Brookline,  to  the  children  of  his  parish,  in  Sunday 
School ;  and  are  now  published,  with  his  leave,  by  some  of  his 
parishioners,  who  desire  to  extend  to  a  larger  circle,  the  pleasure 
and  the  benefit  they  have  derived  from  them. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

I.  The  Star  in  the  East       .         .         .         .         i 

II.  Tender- Heartedness     ....           13 

III.  Truth 29 

IV.  Humility 44 

V.  Temper        .         •         .         .         .         .         .58 

VI.  Good  and  Bad  Seed       .         .         .         .           72 

VII.  The  Heavenly  Vision        ....       86 


99 


VIII.  Modesty 

IX.  The  One  Thing  Needful          .         .  .114 

X.  Self -Devotion        .         .         .         .         .  128 

XI.  Loyalty       .         .         .         .         ,         .  .141 

XII.  How    HARD    IT    is    TO    BE    GoOD              .             .  1:^4 

XIII.  Fidelity  in  Little  Things       .         .  .    '167 

XIV.  Patience          .         .         .         .         .         .  179 

XV.  Sincerity 193 

XVI.  Everlasting  Life 208 


SUNDAY    STORIES. 


I. 

THE    STAR   IN   THE   EAST. 


w 


We  have  seen  his  star  in  the  east. —  Matthno,  ii.  2. 

HEN  JESUS  was  born  in  Bethlehem,  says  the 
Gospel  narrative,  wise  men  came  to  Jerusa- 
lem, asking,  "  Where  is  he  that  is  born  King  of  the 
Jews  ?  For  we  have  seen  his  star  in  the  east." 
And  afterwards,  continues  the  story,  the  star  went 
before  them  and  guided  them  to  the  place  where  the 
child  Jesus  was. 

In  those  days  there  were  many  beliefs  about  the 
stars  which  we  do  not  hold  now.  If  one  of  them 
shone  with  more  brilliancy  than  usual,  as  they  some- 
times do,  people  thought  it  a  sign  that  something 
unusual  was  to  happen  on  the  earth. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  at  a  time  when  all  the 
Jewish  nation  was  looking  for  the  Christ  to  come, 
these  wise  men  should  take  the  star  to  mean  that  he 
had  come  ;  nor  is  it  strange  that  the  star  should 
seem  to  lead  them  to  the  spot  where  Jesus  was  born. 


SUNDAY    STOBIES. 


Some  of  you  may  have  travelled  far  enough  under 
the  stars  to  have  noticed  how  they  seem  to  go  before 
you.  Just  over  the  brow  of  the  next  hill,  as  you 
ride,  will  hang  a  bright,  trembling,  little  eye  of  light, 
and  it  seems  that  before  long  you  will  be  directly 
under  it.  But  when  you  have  climbed  the  summit  of 
that  hill,  there  is  the  star,  winking  merrily  away  just 
over  the  brow  of  the  next.  And  so  as  on  you  go, 
down  into  the  valleys,  and  up  over  the  hills,  always 
the  star  seems  just  before  you  ;  and  always  it  seems 
to  go  backward  as  you  advance. 

Is  it  not  a  pretty  picture,  these  wise  men  of  the 
East  in  their  priestly  robes,  mounting  over  the  hill- 
sides of  Judea,  in  the  full  splendor  of  a  cloudless 
night,  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  great  burning  star, 
which  shone  down  upon  them  with  a  solemn,  holy 
lio:ht  .-*  How  their  hearts  must  have  swelled  at 
thought  of  the  noble  man  and  the  great  things  which 
that  star  portended,  and  how  very  eagerly  they  must 
have  followed  its  rays,  until  they  came  to  Bethlehem, 
and  to  the  infant  Christ  ! 

For  each  one  of  us,  my  dear  children,  there  is  a 
star  in  the  heaven,  which  points  us  the  way  toward 
Christ  and  God,  and  it  is  about  this  star  that  I  am 
going  to  tell  you. 

We  see  it  always  in  our  childhood.  Happy  for  us 
if  our  eyes  do  not  wander  from  it  to  some  earthly 
lio-ht ;  if  clouds  do  not  hide  it  from  our  gaze,  or  if  we 


THE    STAR    IX    THE    EAST. 


find  not  the  road  too  rough  to  follow  its  lead.  It  is 
the  star  of  goodness  and  truth,  and  it  shines  down 
upon  us,  and  touches  our  faces  as  they  are  turned  up 
toward  it,  with  the  light  of  faith. 

Let  me  tell  you  what  this  star  does  for  us.  Out 
upon  the  wide  ocean,  far  away  from  land,  where  the 
wind  brings  no  scent  of  flowers,  but  only  the  cold 
breath  of  the  white-capped  waves  ;  where  is  neither 
song  of  birds  nor  hum  of  bees,  but  only  the  monoto- 
nous, unending  murmur  of  the  waters ;  where  the 
sun  in  his  setting  tips  no  hills  with  his  glory,  but 
seems  to  put  out  his  light  as  he  dips  himself  into  the 
billows,  and  the  stars  seem  like  white  bits  of  foam 
that  have  blown  up  from  the  surface  of  the  sea  and 
stuck  themselves  upon  the  sky,  rides  a  ship,  rising 
and  falling  with  the  heave  of  the  waves,  while  her 
white  sails  silently  and  gently  stretching  out  with 
the  breeze,  urge  her  silently  onward. 

It  is  fine  weather,  and  a  merry  party  are  on  deck. 
One  by  one  the  stars  are  coming  out  against  the 
darkening  background  of  the  sky,  and  low  down  in 
the  west,  toward  which  they  are  sailing,  the  evening 
star  shines  like  a  beacon  light.  The  passengers  are 
thinking  of  home,  for  they  are  almost  there ;  and 
that  star  hangs  directly  over  the  loved  ones  who 
await  their  return.  Perhaps  they  too  are  watching 
it,  over  the  fadins:  crlovv  of  sunset,  and  wonderins: 
how   many    times    it    must    look   down    upon    them 


8  UN  DA  Y  S  TOE  lES. 


before  it  sees  the  wanderers  safe  home  again.  Thus, 
as  the  voyagers  rise  and  fall  with  the  heave  of  the 
sea,  the  star  beckons  them  to  haven,  and  home,  and 
loved  ones  ;  and  it  seems  that  they  will  never  weary 
of  gazing  at  its  radiant  beauty.  But  at  length  the 
night  grows  chill,  and  they  go  below  to  sleep,  while 
still  the  ship  rises  and  falls  with  the  heave  of  the 
sea,  and  the  star,  lower  down  in  the  west,  peeps  over 
her  bow,  and  silvers  her  white  deck. 

All  at  once,  in  the  dead  of  night,  the  passengers 
are  awakened.  There  is  a  sound  of  swift  and  heavy 
trampling  over  their  heads,  as  the  sailors  run  hither 
and  thither,  dragging  at  the  heavy  ropes.  The  vessel 
madly  plunges  and  rears  like  a  frightened  horse. 
The  waves  with  angry  blows  beat  upon  her  sides, 
and  send  a  quiver,  as  of  pain,  through  all  her 
timbers.  The  wind  roars  even  louder  than  the  sea, 
and  the  hissing  rain  descends  in  torrents.  Still  the 
ship  tosses  the  foam  from  her  bows,  as  though  it 
obstructed  her  sight,  and  rushes  swiftly  on.  The 
passengers  are  not  allowed  to  go  on  deck,  and 
through  many  weary  hours  they  can  only  listen  and 
wait.  ,  The  trampling  above  continues,  and  now  and 
then  a  loud  crash  tells  that  the  spars  are  giving  away, 
or  a  sail  has  blown  out  of  the  bolt-ropes.  The  creak- 
ing grows  louder  as  the  ship  rolls  from  side  to  side, 
and  she  seems  to  be  losing  her  life  ;  growing  ex- 
hausted, as  it  were,  in  the  long  struggle.     She  rises 


THE   STAR   IN   THE  EAST. 


less  buoyantly  upon  the  waves,  but  with  sullen 
determination  plows  through  them.  The  water  is 
pouring  into  her  from  many  an  opened  seam,  and 
the  vessel  is  slowly  sinking. 

All  through  the  night,  and  far  into  the  afternoon 
of  the  succeeding  day,  the  passengers  sit  in  the 
cabin,  without  being  able  to  do  more  for  their  safety 
than  hope  and  pray.  Then  the  storm  is  surely  going 
down,  and  they  begin  to  think  that  the  danger  is 
past,  when  suddenly  the  hatches  are  opened,  and  a 
hoarse  voice  shouts  down  the  order  to  take  to  the 
boats.  Up  they  rush,  and  no  time  is  to  be  lost. 
The  boats  are  already  stored  with  provisions,  and 
they  take  their  places.  When  all  is  ready,  the 
captain  descends  to  his  cabin  for  his  instruments. 
But  just  as  he  has  almost  reached  the  boat  with 
them,  a  great  wave  sweeps  him  off  his  feet,  and  he 
is  forced  to  cling  with  both  hands  to  a  rope.  When 
he  regains  his  feet,  the  instruments  are  gone.  There 
is  not  a  moment  to  spare.  He  springs  to  his  place ; 
the  boat  is  cleared  away,  and  the  noble  ship  with  a 
plunge  goes  down  into  the  deep. 

Where  are  they  now  ?  They  have  been  driven  far 
out  of  their  course,  and  have  lost  their  reckoning. 
They  have  no  instruments  with  which  to  determine 
their  position,  or  tell  them  what  way  they  should  sail. 
But  as  the  sun  goes  down,  the  clouds  clear  away, 
and    struggling  out   of    the   west,   growing   brighter 


SUNDAY   STOEIES. 


and  brighter  as  the  day  departs,  appears  the  evening 
star. 

How  different  is  their  situation  from  that  in  which 
they  last  beheld  it !  Yet  still  it  beckons  them  to 
haven,  and  home,  and  loved  ones ;  and  rising  and 
falling  with  the  heave  of  the  sea,  they  once  more 
turn  their  faces  towards  it,  while  the  star  shines  on 
to  guide  them  across  the  watery  way.  Day  succeeds 
day  of  exposure  and  danger.  But  still,  night  after 
night,  the  star  comes  out  to  inspire  them  with  its 
calm  and  steady  light.  Always,  as  darkness  falls, 
they  turn  their  eyes  towards  the  West,  and  wait  in 
breathless  silence,  till  some  one  cries  out,  *'  I  see  the 
star !  "  Then  if  they  have  left  their  course,  they 
once  more  turn  their  prow  straight  towards  it,  and  as 
again  and  again  it  appears  before  them,  they  know 
they  must  be  nearing  loved  ones  and  homes.  They 
see  great  sails  upon  the  horizon,  but  too  far  away 
to  notice  their  little  boat,  and  so  rising  and  falling, 
they  patiently  sail  on. 

At  length,  one  evening,  soon  after  the  sun  is  out 
of  sight,  a  great  light  bursts  out  just  above  the  line 
of  the  sea,  and  a  chorus  of  voices  cries  out,  "  I  see 
the  star!"  But  a  great  joy  shines  in  the  captain's 
face,  as  he  says,  '*No,  it  is  not  the  star."  And  sure 
enough,  the  star  itself  soon  appears,  and  hangs  just 
over  this  other  brilliant  flame.  Then  they  know 
that  they  see  the  harbor  light,  and  a  great  shout  of 
deliverance  goes  up  to  heaven. 


THE   STAR   IN    THE   EAST. 


Thus  in  all  their  wanderings,  the  star  has  gone 
before  them,  and  has  guided  them  surely  to  haven, 
and  loved  ones,  and  home. 

So,  dear  children,  our  souls  are  out  upon  the 
ocean  of  life.  In  our  hours  of  happiness  and  mirth, 
when  the-swelling  tide  of  youth  fills  us  only  with  joy 
and  delight ;  while  the  gently  heaving  current  hides 
all  its  angry  waves  in  a  smile  of  security  and  peace, 
and  w^e  build  happy  dreams  of  what  shall  come  to 
pass  ;  the  star  of  faith  in  God,  of  trust  in  goodness 
and  truth,  shines  in  upon  our  hearts,  with  a  light 
which  kindles  all  our  hopes,  and  leads  us  towards 
that  future  in  wdiich  all  our  dreams  are  to  be  realized. 

And  if  the  hour  of  tempest  and  danger  comes  to 
drive  us  from  our  course ;  if  the  winds  of  temptation 
blow,  or  the  waves  of  sorrow  rise  ;  if  shipwreck  befall 
us  and  we  are  forced  to  exchange  the  ship  of  our 
pride,  for  a  life  of  danger  and  toil,  exposed  to  rude 
buffeting ;  always  this  star  shines  out,  to  guide  our 
course  and  tell  us  of  a  home  of  happiness  and  peace 
which  awaits  our  cominc;.  In  all  the  scenes  of  our 
life,  whether  we  look  and  long  for  it,  or  forget  that  it 
is  there,  the  star  shines  ever  the  same,  to  make  our 
joy  more  joyous,  to  make  our  sorrow  easier  to  bear, 
and  show  us  the  way  in  which  we  shall  find  the  safe 
end  of  all  our  wanderings. 

Let   me   tell   you   a   short  fable,   to   illustrate  still 


SUNDAY   STORIES. 


further  what  I  mean.  There  was  once  a  soft-eyed, 
snowy -plumaged  dove,  that  fell  in  love  with  a 
beautiful  star.  She  had  never  seen  the  star  many 
times,  this  dove,  she  went  to  sleep  so  early.  But  one 
evening  she  was  awakened  in  great  fright  by  the 
angry  hooting  of  an  owl,  whose  fiery  eyes  stared  at 
her  through  the  window  of  her  little  house,  till,  find- 
ing that  he  could  not  reach  her,  he  flew  away.  Then 
because  she  could  not  sleep,  she  looked  up  through 
her  window,  to  one  very  bright  star.  Perhaps  it 
was  the  contrast  between  its  mild  beauty  and  the 
brutal  stare  of  the  owl  ;  perhaps  it  was  because  its 
purity  was  so  like  the  innocence  of  her  own  heart ; 
but  for  some  reason,  the  longer  she  gazed  the  more 
fascinated  did  she  become,  and  the  less  she  felt  like 
going  to  sleep  again. 

Then  she  began  to  feel  discontented  with  things 
about  her,  and  she  cried  out,  **  Oh,  star !  why  can  I 
not  fly  away  to  you,  and  be  among  all  the  bright  eyes 
of  night,  far  above  this  world  where  I  see  so  much 
that  is  cruel  and  bad,  and  where  I  have  so  many 
foes  } "  But  the  star  did  not  answer  her,  though  she 
crept  out  of  her  nest  into  the  still  evening  air  to 
listen.  Again  and  again  she  cried  out,  till  the  long- 
ing of  her  soul  grew  so  strong  that  she  forgot  every 
thing  else,  and  spread  her  white  wings  for  flight. 
Up  and  away  she  soared,  for  many  and  many  an  hour, 
beatins:  her  wino-s  in  the  thin  air  of    the    heavens, 


THE    STAR   IN    THE   EAST. 


through  which  she  could  not  mount.  But  the  star 
was  still  as  far  away  as  ever,  and  at  length,  utterly 
exhausted,  she  fluttered  back  to  earth  again,  murmur- 
ing, *'  Not  yet ;  I  am  not  strong  enough  yet.  By- 
and-by  I  shall  be  stronger,  or  perhaps  he  will  come 
nearer  to  me."  So  she  crept  back  to  her  nest,  and 
cooed  to  the  star,  long  and  lovingly.  To  be  sure  he 
did  not  answer  her  ;  **but,"  thought  she,  **he  must 
love  me,  else  he  would  not  shine  upon  me  so  sweetly 
and  constantly." 

Thus  the  little  dove  was  perfectly  content,  and 
bided  the  time  when  it  should  be  made  right  for  her 
to  fly  away  to  the  brilliant  sky.  "  It  will  come,"  she 
said,  "  and  meanwhile  1  have  the  beautiful  light  of 
my  star  to  comfort  me."  Night  after  night  she 
watched  for  his  rising,  nor  would  she  close  her  eyes 
till  she  had  poured  out  to  him  her  evening  song  of 
love,  and  his  holy  peace  had  shone  into  her  soul. 

She  was  no  longer  afraid  of  the  terrors  of  the 
night,  for  was  not  his  eye  always  open  and  watching 
her.?  So,  although  birds  and  beasts  of  prey  were 
abroad,  she  slept  without  fear,  under  the  guardian- 
ship of  her  star.  She  was  a  little  troubled  when  the 
clouds  first  hid  him  from  her  eyes,  and  thought, 
"  What  if  he  has  gone  away  and  no  longer  loves 
me .?"  But  the  next  night  he  was  in  his  accustomed 
place,  and  she  soon  learned  never  to  doubt  him, 
when  the  storm"  and  the  cloud  came.     She  said,  '*  He 


lo  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

is   there,  and  he  knows   that   I   am   here,  though  I 
cannot  see  him." 

Through  many  bright  summers  and  many  weary 
winters,  the  dove  loved  and  waited  and  hoped  on. 
She  did  not  mope  or  pine,  but  had  many  pleasures 
dear  to  her  heart.  Still  the  chief  of  all,  was  to  watch 
the  star  and  dream  of  the  time  when  she  should  fly 
away  to  him. 

One  clear  and  sunny  morning,  when  all  the  earth 
was  decked  in  flowers,  and  every  thing  in  nature  was 
radiant  with  happiness,  the  dove  set  off  for  a  ramble. 
The  perfection  of  the  day  tempted  her  on  and  on, 
and  its  heat  made  her  seek  the  upland  breezes, 'till 
late  in  the  afternoon  she  awoke  as  from  a  dream,  to 
find  herself  high  up  among  mountains.  The  sun 
was  going  down,  and  an  angry  storm  rising,  whose 
winds  were  even  then  shaking  the  tops  of  the  pines. 
She  was  full  of  terror,  but  still  her  first  thought  was 
that  the  star  would  be  disappointed  if  he  should  not 
find  her  in  her  nest.  She  hastily  took  her  direction 
and  found  that  her  home  was  directly  in  the  face  of 
the  coming  storm.  Swiftly  she  flew  that  she  might 
find  shelter  before  it  reached  her.  But  it  met  her, 
before  her  long  journey  was  well  begun. 

Bravely  she  battled  with  its  rage,  but  she  could 
make  no  headway  against  it.  The  torrents  drenched 
her  plumage,  and  the  stormy  gusts  swept  her  back- 
ward and  still  backward,  among  the  mountain  peaks. 


THE   STAR    IN   THE  EAST. 


She  gained  a  moment's  rest,  by  perching  upon  a  rock 
during  a  short  lull  of  the  wind,  but  it  soon  swept  her 
again  with  its  tumult.  She  could  not  rise  above  it, 
nor  make  headway  through  it.  She  could  find  no 
cover  from  its  awful  power,  and  she  dared  not  fly 
before  it  lest  she  should  blindly  dash  herself  upon 
some  rock  in  the  darkness.  She  was  caught  as  by 
the  hand  of  a  giant,  and  though  she  struggled  long 
and  w^ell,  the  giant  tossed  her  at  length  high  up  upon 
a  ledge,  bruised  and  bleeding  —  her  strength  gone, 
her  snowy  wings  broken  and  torn,  and  her  life  slowly 
ebbing  out  through  the  wounds  made  by  the  ugly 
rocks. 

*' Oh ! "  moaned  the  poor  dove,  "does  the  star 
know  where  I  am  ?  Why  does  he  suffer  me  to  be  so 
tossed  and  torn  by  the  cruel  winds  ? "  Just  then  the 
clouds  parted,  for  the  storm  had  gone  by,  and  lo ! 
from  out  the  clear  blue  sky,  the  star  looked  kindly 
down  upon  her.  She  caught  his  glance,  and  all 
her  pain  was  at  once  forgotten.  Her  soul  went  out 
to  him  with  as  much  love  as  thouofh  she  was  sittiuGf 
once  more  in  her  cozy  dove-cote.  All  dying  as  she 
was,  she  felt  that  at  length  she  was  strong  enough  to 
make  her  way  into  the  heavens.  And  though  her 
head  slowly  sank  upon  her  blood-stained  bosom,  she 
feebly  fluttered  her  shattered  wings,  and  murmur- 
ing, "At  last  the  time  has  come,"  she  died. 

But  who   shall    say  that    her   pure   spirit  had  not 


12  SUNDAY   STOEIES. 

found    strength    to    fly    away    to    the   home    of    her 
dreams  ? 

Does  not  the  fable  carry  its  own  moral  to  your 
minds  ?  Are  not  all  our  souls  like  the  dove,  in  love 
with  a  star  —  the  star  of  God's  goodness,  which 
shines  down  upon  us  from  so  far  away  —  yet  whose 
beams  come  so  close  to  our  hearts  ?  Suppose  God 
does  not  speak  when  we  cry  out  to  Him,  is  it  not 
enough  that  He  still  shines  upon  us,  and  answers  our 
love  by  never  withdrawing  His  light  ?  And  though 
we  find  ourselves  chained  to  the  world  amidst  its 
angry  and  brutal  passion,  still  we  can  bide  the  time 
when  strength  shall  be  given  us  to  mount  into  the 
heavens.  For  each  one  of  us  the  star  is  shining;  let 
us  follow  it,  and  love  it,  and  let  us  believe  with  the 
dove,  eveu  tmtil  death,  that  our  souls  shall  at  length 
find  it  and  be  at  rest. 


11. 

TENDER-HEARTEDNESS. 


And  be  ye  kind   to   one   another,  tender-hearted,   forgiving   one 
another,  even  as  God  for  Christ's  sake   hath  forgiven  you. —  Eph., 


TN  trying  to  tell  you  what  it  is  to  be  ''tender- 
hearted," I  think  I  must  first  ask  you  to  be  very 
careful  not  to  think  of  it  as  being  "chicken-hearted," 
that  is,  cowardly.  I  suppose  there  are  few  things 
which  boys  especially  despise  more  than  cowardice, 
but  they  sometimes  do  not  call  things  by  their  right 
names. 

I  agree  with  the  boys  that  a  coward  is  contempti- 
ble, but  I  am  not  sure  that  we  should  always  agree 
who  is  the  coward.  Now  so  far  are  tender-hearted 
people  from  being  cowardly,  that  they  are  usually 
among  the  bravest  of  the  brave,  because  they  are 
easily  moved  by  the  danger  or  trouble  of  another, 
and  forget  all  about  the  risk  to  themselves,  in  trying 
to  right  the  wrongs,  or  relieve  the  perils  of  others. 

Suppose,  for  example,  that  a  pleasure-boat  should 
capsize  near  the  shore,  and,  in  full  view  of  men 
standing  there,  its  occupants  should  be  on  the  point 
of  drowning.  One  man  might  say,  '*  I  run  great  risk 
of  drowning,  myself,  if  I  attempt  to  swim  to  their 
rescue.     Even   if    I   reach  them,    I  have   heard  that 


14 


SUNDAY  STOPiIES. 


drowning  people  sometimes  clutch  one  about  the 
body,  and  cannot  be  made  to  let  go.  My  life  is 
worth  as  much  as  theirs,  and  so  they  may  go  to  the 
bottom  for  all  me." 

This  man  would  be  both  hard-hearted  and  a  cow- 
ard ;  hard-hearted  because  he  would  have  so  little 
pity  for  those  struggling  desperately  to  save  their 
lives ;  a  coward  because  he  would  be  afraid  to  risk 
anything  to  rescue  them.  Another  man  would  feel 
as  quickly  and  as  keenly  the  danger  of  others  as 
though  he  himself  were  in  peril  of  his  life ;  and  with- 
out stopping  to  calculate  the  chances,  would  rush  at 
once  to  their  assistance.  This  would  be  the  brave 
and  tender-hearted  man ;  brave  because  he  had  a 
tender  heart,  which  the  sight  of  misfortune  would 
easily  move. 

Or,  suppose  you  should  some  day  find  a  group  of 
boys  upon  the  play-ground,  gathered  about  one  large 
boy  abusing  a  small  one,  who  was  getting  very  badly 
kicked  and  cuffed,  without  strength  to  defend  him- 
self. And  suppose  there  should  be  other  large  boys 
in  the  crowd,  who  looked  on  with  indifference,  and 
would  do  nothing  to  help  the  weaker.  Should  you 
not  say  they  were  both  cowardly  and  hard-hearted  .'' 
And  if  there  was  a  boy  there  who  really  pitied  the 
little  fellow,  and  felt  indignant  with  the  bully,  would 
he  not  step  forward  and  say,  "  Do  you  let  this  boy  go, 
or  you'll  have  me  to  deal  with  "  ? 


TEXUER  -  HE  A  It  TEDXESS.  1 5 

So  I  do  not  want  you  to  think  that  "tender- 
hearted "  means  "  chicken-hearted,"  but  something 
quite  the  opposite.  For  when  is  a  thing  hard  or  soft  ? 
Plainly  enough  it  is  hard  when  you  cannot  easily 
make  any  impression  upon  it.  You  accidentally  run 
your  head  against  a  door  in  the  dark.  It  doesn't 
hurt  the  door  ;  you  will  find  no  bruise  upon  its  pan- 
els, and  there  will  be  no  need  to  apply  brown  paper 
to  keep  it  from  swelling.  But  your  head,  ah,  that  is 
another  matter  !  The  door  makes  a  good  deal  of  an 
impression  upon  that.  The  door  is  hard,  because 
when  other  things  strike  it,  it  makes  little  difference 
with  the  door.  That  stands  a  good  many  hard 
knocks,  before  it  is  seriously  injured.  But  your  head 
•is  tender  or  soft  in  comparison,  because  a  very  little 
bump  will  set  the  stars  dancing  before  your  eyes, 
and  puff  out  a  great  swelling  on  your  forehead,  while 
a  good  solid  knock,  such  as  you  get  sometimes  in 
skating,  will  render  you  for  a  time  insensible. 

This,  then,  is  what  I  want  to  make  you  see,  that 
hard-hearted  people,  are  such  as  are  not  easily  affect- 
ed by  what  they  hear  or  see,  or  by  what  takes  place 
about  them.  Sound,  you  know,  is  made  by  little 
waves  of  air,  which  beat  upon  the  ear,  like  drum- 
sticks on  the  head  of  a  drum.  Now  when  these  little 
waves  of  sound  make  no  impression  upon  a  man's 
ear,  we  say  he  is  hard  of  hearing,  that  is,  he  is  deaf. 
So  little  waves  of  joy  and   sorrow  are  always  made 


1 6  SUNDAY   STOBIES. 

by  the  lives  of  those  about  us,  and  are  continually 
beating  against  our  hearts.  If  they  make  no  impres- 
sion upon  us  ;  if  our  hearts  only  send  them  back 
again  as  the  side  of  a  wall  sends  back  your  ball,  then 
we  are  hard-hearted,  unfeeling,  cold  and  without  sym- 
pathy. If  these  waves  of  joy  and  sorrow  sent  out 
by  others,  enter  into  our  minds  and  make  us  joyful 
or  sorrowful  with  those  about  us,  then  we  are  tender- 
hearted, full  of  pity,  and  ready  to  forgive,  even  as 
Christ  forgave  all  his  enemies. 

Let  me  try  to  illustrate  for  you  how  much  this 
quality  of  tenderness  or  sympathy  means  in  our 
lives,  and  how  much  it  has  to  do  with  our  happiness. 
The  different  articles  of  furniture  in  a  parlor,  once 
fell  into  conversation  among  themselves  while  the 
family  were  at  dinner,  and  as  some  of  them  were 
rather  vain,  they  began  to  boast  of  their  respective 
powers  to  enjoy  life  and  give  pleasure  to  others.  At 
first  the  talk  was  mostly  between  a  large  pillow 
lying  upon  the  sofa,  and  a  marble  statue  standing  on 
a  pedestal  in  the  corner.  The  pillow  was  very  proud 
of  a  bright  silk  patchwork  covering,  which  indeed 
looked  very  beautiful  as  the  firelight  shone  upon  it. 
It  was  forever  boasting  of  its  bright  hues,  saying 
that  it  could  first  attract  the  notice  of  every  one  who 
entered  the  room,  and  was  more  admired  than  ever 
that  priggish  statue  had  been,  say  what  it  would. 

The   statue  replied  with   a  little  sniff  of  disdain, 


TEXBEB  -  IlEARTEDXESS. 


n 


that  it  hadn't  much  opinion  of  a  stuffy,  clumpy  thing 
with  nothing  but  feathers  inside  it;  which  couldn't 
stand  alone  if  it  tried  ;  whose  shape  was  destroyed, 
every  time  any  one  happened  to  touch  it,  and  which 
had  to  be  shaken  up  a  dozen  times  a  day  to  keep  it 
in  anv  decent  figure.  "  Now  as  for  me,"  continued 
the  statue,  "people  may  rub  and  thump  and  lean 
upon  me,  I  always  preserve  my  own  form.  I  am 
solid  and  strong ;  my  beauty  is  the  same,  day  in  and 
day  out.  Nothing  disturbs  me  or  annoys  me,  and  I 
am  always  a  source  of  delight  to  those  who  look  at 
me.  But  as  for  you,  (turning  to  the  pillow,)  although 
you  are  sometimes  rather  pretty,  yet  half  the  time  you 
have  no  more  shape  than  a  lump  of  mud." 

The  pillow  now  shook  itself  up  in  its  anger,  and 
its  silk  covering  fairly  rustled  with  indignation,  as  it 
replied:  ''Solid!  I  should  think  so  —  IfT  were  as 
rigid  as  you,  I  should  hate  myself.  Always  standing 
on  that  one  toe,  (I  should  think  it  must  ache  dread- 
fully by  this  time ; )  always  staring  down  at  that  one 
flower,  with  that  same  smile  ;  and  a  precious  silly  one 
it  is  !  I  wish  to  goodness  you  could  double  up  when 
some  one  poked  you  in  the  side ;  or  take  your  arm 
down  ;  or  stand  on  the  other  leg,  or  do  something  to 
change  your  position.  I  am  sure  it  would  be  a  relief 
to  all  of  us,  for  we  are  terribly  bored  at  having  so 
cold  and  stiff  a  thing  always  in  sight." 

Hereupon  the  chairs  and  the  sofas  all  chimed  in 
3 


SUNDAY   STORIES. 


with  their  assent;  while  the  clock  and  vases  on  the 
mantle-piece,  together  with  the  pictures  on  the  walls, 
beo-an  all  to  talk  t02:ether  in  defence  of  the  statue. 
They  grew  very  noisy  and  excited,  and  called  each 
other  hard  names.  Even  the  books  on  the  shelves 
began  to  quarrel  among  themselves,  as  some  were 
bound  in  stiff  hard  boards,  and  felt  themselves 
aggrieved  by  what  the  pillow  had  said,  while  others, 
bound  only  in  paper,  considered  that  the  remarks 
made  by  the  statue  reflected  upon  them. 

So  there  was  great  pushing  and  crowding  upon  the 
shelves,  till  half  a  dozen  large  volumes  were  elbowed 
out  of  their  places,  and  fell  with  a  great  crash  to  the 
floor.  At  this  the  piano  shuddered,  and  gave  a  little 
moan  of  pain  ;  the  first  sign  it  had  given  that  it  took 
any  notice  of  what  was  going  forward. 

Of  course  the  fall  of  the  books  made  a  little  silent 
pause,  as  all  stopped  to  see  what  had  happened  ;  and 
so  it  chanced  that  all  heard  this  little  painful  moan 
given  out  by  the  piano.  At  once  they  all  turned 
fiercely  upon  it.  Oh !  the  dear  delicate  creature. 
Such  a  great  overgrown  thing,  and  yet  so  very  sensi- 
tive !  How  nice  it  must  be  to  have  such  refined 
nerves.  Doubtless  it  felt  shocked  at  the  noise  they 
were  making.  But  if  it  didn't  like  it,  it  had  better 
make  some  use  of  those  elegant  carved  legs,  and 
march  out  of  the  room. 

So  angry  did  they  grow,    that  when  the  fire-screen 


TENDER  -  HE  A  li  TEDNESS.  i  g 

proposed  that  they  should  rise  in  a  body  and  put  out 
of  the  room  a  thing  so  aristocratic  and  one  which  felt 
itself  so  much  above  them,  there  was  a  great  tumult 
and  shout  of  applause,  and  the  chairs  and  ottomans 
tumbled  over  each  other  in  their  haste  to  get  at  the 
piano. 

But  all  this  time  a  pair  of  brass  tongs,  with  a  very 
solemn  cast  of  features,  had  been  leaning  against 
the  fire-place  and  gazing  quietly  into  the  fire.  Now 
the  tongs  had  won  a  great  deal  of  respect  and  some 
reputation  as  a  philosopher,  because  it  never  lost  its 
temper,  and  when  it  got  into  an  argument,  was  seen 
to  get  the  best  of  it.  So  now  when  it  raised  itself 
erect  and  gave  two  or  three  loud  snaps  with  its  feet, 
all  knew  what  it  meant.  As  when  a  meeting  gets 
noisy,  and  the  president  with  his  little  wooden  mal- 
let calls  it  to  order,  so  the  sharp  click  of  the  tongs 
reduced  the  whole  room  to  silence. 

"One  moment,"  said  the  tongs,  "before  you  turn 
the  piano  out  of  doors.  This  dispute  was  at  first  as 
to  who  could  give  and  receive  the  most  happiness. 
Suppose  we  settle  that  first.  You  are  angered  with 
the  piano  because  it  is  so  sensitive  ;  perhaps  that 
may  turn  out  to  be  a  virtue  rather  than  a  weakness. 
Now,"  continued  the  tongs,  "I  shall  go  about  the 
room  and  give  you  each  a  good  hard  kick.  That  will 
settle  one  thing,  and  that  is,  who  is  most  likely  to  be 
made  unhappy  by  what  others  do  to  it." 


20  SUNDAY    STORIES. 

So  saying  the  tongs  made  a  stride  forward,  swung 
back  its  long  leg  and  delivered  a  vigorous  kick  at  the 
centre  of  the  pillow.  "  Did  it  hurt  ?  "  asked  the 
tongs.  "  Not  a  bit,"  replied  the  pillow.  So  all  the 
rest  thought  that  to  be  as  good  as  the  pillow  they 
must  say  it  didn't  hurt.  The  chairs  did  ache  a  little 
when  their  legs  got  two  or  three  hard  raps,  but  they 
said,  like  the  pillow,  that  it  didn't  hurt. 

But  when  it  came  the  turn  of  the  piano,  that  could 
not  keep  still.  The  very  first  blow  set  all  its  wires 
jingling,  and  at  the  second  it  fairly  screamed  with 
pain.  Thereupon  all  the  rest  thought  that  its  weak- 
ness was  very  clearly  shown. 

"  Hold,"  said  the  tongs,  "  I  have  yet  one  other 
test."  So  mounting  upon  a  table  where  stood  a 
large  music-box,  already  wound  up,  the  tongs  touched 
the  spring  which  set  it  in  motion,  and  off  it  went, 
playing  a  beautiful  air  from  an  opera.  "  Oh,  stop 
that  noise  ! "  cried  all  the  chairs  and  sofas  and  tables 
in  a  breath.  "  What  is  the  good  of  setting  that  rat- 
ling thing  a-going.  If  you  don't  stop  it,  it  will  keep 
..  p  its  horrid  tinkling  for  an  hour,  and  none  of  us  will 
be  able  to  hear  ourselves  think." 

"  Silence  all  of  you  !  "  shouted  the  tongs,  "  and 
listen."  So  all  kept  perfectly  quiet  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, while  the  music-box  played  on,  and  then  from 
the  other  end  of  the  room,  wher^  the  piano  stood, 
arose  a  little  faint   murmur  of  harmony  in    response. 


TENDER  -  HE  A  R  TEDXESS.  2 1 

All  could  hear  it,  and  the  chairs  Avhich  stood  near 
declared  that  the  piano  was  fairly  trembling  with 
pleasure. 

"  So,  my  friends,"  said  the  tongs,  "  the  piano  is 
not  only  hurt  by  what  does  not  trouble  you,  it  takes 
the  keenest  delight  in  what  you  cannot  appreciate. 
But  I  hear  footsteps  coming  this  way.  Whoever  it 
may  be,  do  your  best  to  attract  attention,  and  which- 
ever of  you  succeeds  best,  let  us  say  that  is  the  one 
which  has  most  power  to  give  happiness  to  others." 

Just  then  a  young  girl  appeared  at  the  door  and 
paused  upon  the  threshold  to  listen  to  the  music. 
The  sofa-pillow  coughed  in  its  half-smothered  voice, 
as  loud  as  it  could,  and  shook  if!?  bright  colors  in  the 
firelight.  The  statue  hummed  and  hawed,  the  chairs 
shuffled  their  feet,  and  the  lighter  ones  tried  a  little 
dance.  The  pictures  waved  to  and  fro  on  the  wall, 
and  the  marble  clock  began  to  pound  away  furiously 
on  its  silver  bell. 

But  none  of  these  extraordinary  things  did  the 
child  notice.  So  absorbed  was  she  in  the  music  that 
she  did  not  even  see  the  tongs,  though  that  article  of 
furniture  was  curiously  enough  standing  bolt  upright 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  and  watching  her  very 
earnestly.  A  moment  she  stood  listening.  Then 
catching  the  air  played  by  the  music-box,  she  ran  to 
the  piano  and  began  playing  an  accompaniment. 
The    tongs   looked   slowly  about   at   the  crest-fallen 


SUNDAY  S TOBIES. 


-furniture,  stalked  solemnly  back  to  the  fire-place  and 
resumed  its  contemplation  of  the  fire.  The  little  girl 
played  on  long  after  the  music-box  had  run  down, 
while  the  pillow,  the  statue  and  all  the  rest  of  them 
relapsed  into  silent  thought. 

And  this  is  the  lesson  I  hope  they  had  learned, — 
that  sensitive  natures,  which  are  easily  pained  by  any 
wrong-doing,  find  most  in  life  to  delight  them  and 
are  most  capable  of  giving  happiness  to  others. 

There  are  soft-hearted  people,  we  will  say,  like 
the  pillow,  who  are  impressed  by  every  thing  that 
troubles  them,  and  have  hardly  any  thoughts  or  feel- 
ings of  their  own.  Then  there  are  hard-hearted 
people  like  the  statue,  on  whom  nothing  can  make 
any  impression.  But  there  are  also  tender-hearted 
people  whose  natures,  like  the  piano,  are  responsive 
to  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  those  about  them,  and 
these,  if  they  are  sometimes  most  grieved,  are  at 
other  times  the  happiest  people  that  live. 

Will  you  put  away  in  your  memories  the  truth,  my 
dear  children,  that  to  be  tender-hearted  means  to  give 
and  to  receive  much  happiness  ?  This  is  the  first 
lesson  I  want  to  teach  you.  The  second  is,  that  it  is 
our  duty  to  be  tender-hearted.  How  shall  I  make 
you  see  this  too  ?     Listen  to  another  short  story. 

There  was  once  a  very  good  and  great  king,  who 
ruled  over  a  brave  and  kind  people,  upon  whom  a 
neighboring   king  made  war.     This  other  king,  who 


TENBEB  -  IIEARTEDNESS.  23 

began  to  fight,  had  no  complaint  to  make  against  the 
king  or  the  people  whom  he  set  out  to  conquer,  but 
he  had  heard  that  they  were  very  rich,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  rob  them.  So  he  sent  his  son  at  the  head 
of  a  large  army,  to  enter  the  good  king's  land  and  to 
capture  his  cities.  The  young  man  was  handsome 
and  a  great  soldier,  but  he  had  been  brought  up  among 
rough  men  and  was  very  cruel  in  his  disposition.  So 
when  the  armies  of  the  two  kings  came  together, 
they  fought  a  great  battle,  and  the  army  of  the  bad 
king  was  beaten  and  put  to  flight.  Then  word  was 
brought  to  the  good  king,  that  his  enemy's  son,  who 
had  invaded  the  country  and  caused  so  mucl*  blood- 
shed, was  taken  prisoner,  and  very  dangerously 
wounded.  He  gave  orders  that  the  young  man 
should  be  brought  before  him,  and  when  he  was 
brought  in  on  a  litter,  all  saw  that  he  was  in  great 
pain  and  very  weak  from  loss  of  blood.  When  the 
king  asked  his  nobles  what  ought  to  be  done  with 
him,  all  said  that  he  should  be  put  to  death,  for  he 
was  a  bad  man  who  would  give  them  trouble  as  long- 
as  he  lived.  But  the  king  looked  into  his  handsome 
face  and  said,  "  No  !  I  ought  rather  to  save  him  ;  I 
am  sure  there  is  much  good  in  him,  and  perhaps  the 
poor  fellow  never  has  known  what  kindness  is." 

So  he  not  only  spared  his  life,  but  gave  him  money 
and  attendants,  and  physicians,  and  ordered  his  own 
daughter  to  see  that  their  guest  had  every  comfort 


24 


SUNDAY    STORIES. 


and  attention.  But  all  the  while  during  his  recovery 
the  Prince  was  meditating  how  to  take  revenge  for 
his  defeat  and  the  loss  of  his  army.  He  rode  all 
about  the  city  to  find  the  weak  places  in  its  fortifica- 
tions ;  he  bribed  the  servants  of  the  king  to  carry 
secret  messages  to  his  father's  court ;  and  had 
arranged  a  plan  by  which  some  of  his  own  soldiers 
were  to  enter  the  country  in  disguise,  be  admitted  to 
the  city,  and  take  the  king  prisoner.  Then  they 
were  to  ride  away  with  him,  before  any  one  knew 
what  was  done,  and  get  a  very  large  sum  of  money, 
called  a  ransom,  for  setting  him  at  liberty. 

But  tithe  king  had  .faithful  servants,  who  told  him 
what  the  Prince  was  doing,  and  once  more  in  the 
presence  of  his  nobles  he  called  the  young  man  be- 
fore him.  Again  the  nobles  said  that  he  ought  to 
die.  But  again  the  king  looked  into  his  face  and 
said  :  "  No,  he  is  smarting  under  the  sense  of  defeat. 
He  has  lost  and  suffered  much,  and  thinks  I  do  not 
mean  him  any  good.  He  must  understand  that  he 
will  be  closely  watched,  but  he  is  free  to  go  or  stay ; 
and  if  he  chooses  to  go  back  to  his  own  country,  he 
shall  have  money  and  horses  and  servants,  according 
to  his  condition." 

So  the  Prince  began  to  make  arrangements  for 
departure.  But  the  king  said  to  his  daughter,  "  Can- 
not we  touch  his  heart  with  pity,  so  that  he  wnll  cease 
brooding  over  the  failure  of  his  own  plans,  and  learn 
to  live  for  others  .'*  " 


rENBER  -  UEARTEDNESS. 


The  Princess  found  a  poor  beggar  woman,  whom 
she  told  to  sit  at  the  gate  when  the  Prince  dis- 
mounted from  his  ride,  and  ask  him  for  alms.  But 
the  Prince  swore  at  her  a,  great  oath,  and  would  give 
her  nothing.  The  next  day  she  was  there  again,  and 
he  struck  her  across  the  face  with  his  riding-whip. 
Then  the  Princess  said,  *' I  myself  will  try  if  I  can- 
not touch  his  hard  heart."  So  she  put  on  a  mean 
dress,  and  rode  away  to  the  edge  of  the  forest,  where 
dwelt  an  old  woodman  and  his  wife,  whom  she  knew, 
and  by  whose  hut  the  Prince  often  rode.  There  the 
Princess  took  up  her  abode  ;  and  the  next  day,  as  the 
Prince  rode  that  way,  he  saw  a  young  girl  knitting 
under  the  tree,  with  a  jug  of  milk  standing  at  her 
side.  Being  thirsty,  he  reined  in  his  horse  and  asked 
her  for  a  draught  of  milk.  Then,  seeing  that  she 
was  very  beautiful,  he  said,  '*  It  is  a  great  pity  that  so 
fair  a  face  should  not  find  its  owner  a  fairer  fortune." 
**  Ah,  my  lord!"  said  she,  *'my  handsome  face  is  no 
treasure  to  me,  for  it  exposes  me  to  the  insult  of 
every  rude  passer-by.  Only  last  even  there  came 
one  to  the  hut,  who  swore  he  would  have  me  for  his 
wife  ;  and  when  I  refused,  he  said  he  would  come 
with  a  troop  of  horsemen  and  take  me  away."  *'Tell 
me  where  I  may  find  him,"  said  the  Prince ; "  "I 
will  chastise  him  as  he  deserves ;  "  for  something 
like  pity  for  the  defenceless  stirred  for  the  first  time 
in  his  heart.     ''Alas  !  but  the  poor  man  with  whom  I 

4 


26  SUNDAY   STOBIES. 

live  owes  him  money,  and  if  any  harm  should  come 
upon  him  through  me,  he  would  wreak  his  vengeance 
upon  this  weak  old  man." 

All  this  was  true  which  the  Princess  had  said,  and 
the  Prince  was  much  interested  in  the  story.  So  he 
rode  back  to  the  palace  and  found  the  king,  and  said, 
"  Sire,  on  the  borders  of  the  forest  live  a  worthy 
couple,  whose  distress  I  would  fain  have  you  relieve." 
The  king  was  delighted,  for  he  perceived  that  at 
length  his  heart  was  touched.  '*  Name  any  sum  you 
like,"  said  he,  "and  be  yourself  the  bearer  of  it  to 
those  who  are  in  need." 

So  the  next  day  the  Prince  went  again  to  the  cot- 
tage, and  carried  money  enough  to  pay  the  old  man's 
debt.  And  while  he  was  chatting  with  the  Princess, 
the  creditor  came. 

He  was  so  rough  and  rude  to  them  all,  that  the 
Prince  beat  him  soundly  with  his  riding-whip  and 
sent  him  away,  promising  to  serve  him  worse  if  he 
ever  appeared  there  again.  "Ah  !"  said  the  Princess, 
"  would  you  think  it }  When  this  cruel  man  was  a 
boy  my  godfather  found  him  one  night  perishing  in 
the  cold.  He  saved  his  life ;  for  my  godfather  is  a 
tender-hearted  man,  who  could  not  bear  to  see  even  a 
mouse  suffer  pain.  But,  though  he  was  ever  very 
kind  to  this  boy,  yet  he  grew  up  cruel  and  unfeeling, 
and  now  often  strikes  the  very  hand  that  saved  his 
life."     Then  the  Prince  was  cut  to  the  heart,  for  he 


TENDER  -  HEAR  TEDNESS.  2  7 

saw  how  he  had  wronged  the  good  king  who  saved 
his  Ufe. 

Hastening  before  him,  he  threw  himself  at  his  feet 
and  confessed,  "  Sire,  I  have  been  a  very  wicked 
man;  I  have  thought  nothing  of  the  good  of  others, 
but  only  of  my  own  pleasure.  To  your  kindness  I 
owe  my  life  ;  and  how  have  I  returned  it  ?  I  am  not 
fit  to  govern  a  kingdom.  Grant,  then,  that  I  may 
marry  a  poor  girl  whom  I  have  found  in  the  forest, 
and  henceforth  live  in  obscurit}^  among  the  poor  and 
distressed  of  your  realm,  to  do  what   good   I   can." 

"  Now,  indeed,"  replied  the  king,  "  you  appear 
most  fit  to  govern  a  kingdom,  since  you  have  shown 
that  you  can  feel  for  the  sorrows  of  others.  Know 
that  the  poor  girl,  whom  you  have  learned  to  love,  is 
Princess  of  this  realm,  and  loves  you.  Hold  you 
only  to  this  new  spirit  that  I  see  in  you,  and  you 
shall  rule  with  the  Princess  as  her  husband  when  I 
am  gone." 

So  the  Prince  thenceforward  kept  trying  evermore 
to  have  a  more  tender  heart  toward  all  men  ;  to  be 
made  glad  by  their  joy,  and  to  sympathize  in  their 
misfortunes.  And  in  after  years  he  was  called  the 
greatest  and  best  king  in  all  the  world. 

My  children,  we  all  serve  a  great  King,  whose 
•  goodness  to  us  we  cannot  begin  to  estimate.  He 
has  made  and  given  to  us  all  this  fair  earth,  and  fixed 
wise  laws  for  our  government.     And  though  we  many 


28  SUNDAY  STOBIES. 

times  break  these  laws,  He  does  not  get  angry  with 
us,  but  only  loves  and  pities  us  without  end.  Is  it 
not  our  duty  to  be  tender-hearted  toward  those  about 
us,  even  as  God  is  always  ready  to  forgive  our  tres- 
passes ?  I  am  sure  you  will  each  of  you  see  that  it 
is  your  duty,  as  the  Prince  found  it  was  his,  to  try  to 
enter  into  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  others  ;  not 
only  to  refrain  from  doing  them  wrong,  but  to  feel  so, 
sorry  for  their  griefs  as  to  want  to  do  them  good, 
whatever  they  may  do  to  you. 

Be  ye  kind  and  tender-hearted  one  toward  another, 
because  only  so  do  we  give  or  receive  happiness,  and 
because  that  is  what  God  expects  of  us  as  our  duty. 


III. 

TRUTH. 

^  I  ^HERE  was  a  little  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  farmer 
living  away  off  among  the  hills,  who  was  very 
bright  and  active,  and  in  many  ways  useful  to  her 
parents.  She  could  drive  the  cattle  to  pasture, 
work  in  the  field  raking  hay,  help  her  mother  wash 
the  pans  and  the  pails,  and  sometimes  assisted  in 
making  the  butter.  What  she  did,  she  did  so  quickly 
and  skilfully,  that  she  was  quite  the  wonder  of  the 
neighborhood. 

But  she  did  not  speak  the  truth.  There  were  days 
when  she  seemed  to  be  possessed  of  some  evil  spirit, 
and  when  from  morning  till  night  she  delighted  in 
telling  falsehoods.  At  other  times  she  would  speak 
the  truth  or  not,  just  as  it  happened. 

Her  mother  was  a  kind  and  gentle  woman,  who 
had  tried  always  to  make  her  daughter  see  the  sin  of 
telling  falsehoods,  and  to  persuade  her  to  love  the 
truth.  She  had  always  hoped  that  as  Christie  grew 
older,  she  would  change  in  this  respect  and  become 
more  like  other  children.  But  now  she  was  getting 
so  old  that  her  mother  began  to  lose  this  hope,  and 
reluctantly  resolved  to  try  what  punishment  would 
do.     So  Christie  was   told   that  the  very  next  wrong 


30  SUNDAY  STonirs. 


story  would  cost  her  a  whipping.  For  answer,  she 
went  out  of  doors  and  can  t  in  again,  saying  that  the 
pigs  had  broken  out  of  their  pens  and  were  spoiling 
the  flower-garden.  Her  mother  ran  out  in  great 
haste,  but  not  a  pig  was  to  be  seen.  It  was  another 
of  Christie's  fibs.  When  asked  why  she  told  it,  she 
only  answered,  "  For  fun  !  "  So  she  was  punished, 
and  as  it  did  not  seem  to  make  the  slightest  impres- 
sion on  her  mind,  next  day  she  was  punished  more 
severely.  So  it  went  on  for  some  days  ;  the  whip- 
pings ever  growing  harder,  and  Christie  giving  no 
sign  that  they  affected  her  character  in  the  least. 

But  her  body  was  as  sensitive  to  blows  as  any  one's, 
and  Christie  began  to  say  to  herself  that  she  didn't 
mean  to  stay  at  home  and  be  whipped  all  the  days  of 
her  life.  She  was  ten  years  old  and  able  to  do  a 
great  deal  of  work,  and  she  would  run  away  and  seek 
her  own  fortune. 

Of  course  she  said  nothing  of  all  this  to  her  mother, 
but  one  day  after  the  whipping  had  been  unusually 
severe,  she  slyly  filled  her  pockets  with  cakes  from 
the  pantry,  and  went  out  to  make  her  own  way  in  the 
world.  Knowing  that  search  would  be  made  for  her, 
she  determined  to  walk  all  day,  and  through  the  fields 
for  the  most  part,  so  that  no  one  should  see  her  and 
tell  her  parents  which  way  she  had  gone. 

She  succeeded  so  well  in  escaping  observation, 
that  her  father  could  not  get  the  least  clue  of  her  in 


TRUTH.  31 


any  direction,  after  she  left  the  house.  At  last  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  been  drowned  in 
the  river,  back  of  the  farm,  where  she  often  went  to 
play,  and  gave  up  all  farther  search.  So  Christie 
was  fairly  launched  upon  the  world. 

Towards  night  of  the  first  day  of  her  travels,  she 
stopped  at  a  farm-house  and  asked  if  they  would  like 
to  hire  any  help.  The  farmer's  wife  saw  that  she 
looked  very  bright,  and  asked  her  what  she  could  do. 
Christie  recounted  the  best  of  her  accomplishments. 
Then  said  the  woman,  *'  Where  do  you  come  from  } 
Have  you  no  home  .-^  "  So  Christie  made  up  a  long- 
story,  of  how  her  father  and  mother  were  both  dead, 
and  she  had  lived  with  an  aunt  who  had  starved  and 
abused  her,  and  at  last  turned  her  out  of  the  house. 
But  something  in  her  manner  made  the  woman 
suspect  that  she  was  not  speaking  the  truth,  so  she 
asked  her,  "  Are  you  a  truthful  girl  .'' "  Christie 
fired  up  in  a  moment;  "It  is  none  of  your  business," 
she  replied,  and  started  off  at  a  run. 

She  slept  that  night  in  a  barn,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing trudged  along  the  highway  again,  looking  for  a 
place  to  live.  But  at  all  the  houses  they  asked  her 
the  same  question,  whether  she  told  the  truth  ;  and 
so  she  never  would  stop,  longer  than  to  beg  for 
something  to  eat. 

"  The  truth  } "  she  would  say  to  herself  ;  '*  why 
should  every  body  make  such  a  fuss  about  the  truth } 


32 


SUNDAY   STORIES. 


What 's  the  good  of  it,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  You 
can't  wear  it,  or  eat  it,  and  so  long  as  I  can  work 
with  my  hands,  whose  business  is  it,  what  I  do  with 
my  tongue?  I  hate  the  very  name  of  truth,  and  if  I 
die  for  it,  I  '11  find  some  place  where  people  mind 
their  own  affairs,  and  leave  me  to  talk  as  I  please." 

At  last  as  Christie  went  on  and  on,  she  came  to  a 
flat  and  marshy  country,  where  the  houses  were 
fewer  and  poorer  than  in  her  own  neighborhood. 
There  were  no  good  fences,  and  the  farm-yards 
instead  of  being  tidy  and  neat,  were  all  littered  with 
bits  of  old  lumber  and  broken  carts.  She  passed  one 
or  two  houses,  because  they  appeared  so  shabby,  and 
at  length  coming  to  one  rather  more  cleanly,  she 
knocked  at  the  door  and  was  bidden  to  come  in. 
The  family  were  about  to  sit  down  to  dinner,  and  so 
the  farmer  was  in  the  house.  Both  he  and  his  wife 
looked  sharply  at  Christie  as  she  told  her  story,  and 
to  her  relief,  did  not  ask  her  when  she  had  finished, 
if  she  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  the  truth.  They 
simply  looked  at  each  other  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Guess  we'  d  better  keep  her."  They  had  but  one 
daughter,  who  was  about  Christie's  age,  and  it  was 
evident  that  Christie  was  a  girl  who  could  do  a  great 
deal  of  work.  So  the  farmer  put  on  a  very  kind 
look,  as  he  said,  "  Little  girl,  if  you  will  stay  with  us 
we  will  give  you  plenty  of  fine  things  to  wear,  and 
we  will  pay  you  wages  for  your  work ;  and  besides 


TRUTH. 


33 


all  this,  you  shall  go  to  school  most  of  the  time,  if 
you  wish  to."  "And  won't  you  mind  if  I  don't 
always  speak  the  truth?"  asked  Christie.  "Oh, 
no ! "  replied  the  farmer,  "  I  don't  care  anything 
about  that."  So  Christie  felt  sure  that  she  had  found 
a  place  which  exactly  suited  her,  at  last,  and  after 
dinner,  set  to  work  with  right  good  will. 

Everything  went  along  beautifully  for  several  days, 
and  she  was  as  happy  and  content  as  possible.  The 
people  did  not  seem  shocked  or  grieved,  if  she  told 
a  falsehood,  and  so  as  they  did  not  produce  any 
impression,  she  fell  out  of  the  habit  of  inventing  her 
usual  stories. 

One  morning  a  man  came  to  the  house  to  buy 
a  horse,  which  he  had  understood  the  farmer  offered 
for  sale.  Christie  knew  the  horse  to  be  a  very  vicious 
one,  who  had  run  away  many  times,  and  broken  more 
than  one  wagon  all  to  pieces.  But  the  farmer  at 
once  began  to  tell  what  a  gentle  and  amiable  disposi- 
tion the  horse  had.  One  would  have  thought  to  hear 
him  talk,  that  for  speed,  strength,  endurance,  and 
good-nature,  there  never  was  another  such  horse  as 
this.  Only,  as  he  said,  it  was  too  good  a  horse  for 
him,  a  poor  man,  to  keep.  The  man  seemed  to  be  so 
entirely  deceived  by  these  praises,  that  Christie  pitied 
him,  and  while  the  farmer  was  gone  to  the  stable  to 
bring  the  horse  out  for  inspection,  she  took  occasion 
to  tell  him  the  truth  about  the  animal.  "  I  know  it 
5 


34 


SUNDAY   STORIES. 


well  enough,  young  missy,"  said  he,  "do  you  mind 
your  business."  So  after  the  horse  had  been  looked 
at,  the  farmer  named  a  ridiculously  high  price,  which 
the  man  agreed  at  once  to  give,  saying  that  he 
would  pay  half  the  money  on  the  spot,  and  the  re- 
mainder next  day.  As  half  the  sum  named  was  more 
than  the  worth  of  the  horse,  the  farmer  quickly 
agreed  ;  the  money  was  counted  out,  and  the  horse 
taken  away. 

The  next  day  the  farmer  went  to  the  nearest 
village  to  make  some  purchases,  but  came  back  at 
night,  in  a  great  rage.  He  had  discovered  that  most 
of  the  money  paid  for  the  horse  was  counterfeit,  that 
is,  false  money.  But  his  neighbor  stoutly  denied  this, 
and  saying  moreover  that  the  horse  was  sold  to  him 
under  false  pretenses,  refused  to  pay  anything  more 
at  all.  Christie  said  nothing,  but  she  thought  that 
it  served  the  farmer  right,  and  she  began  to  think 
that  grown  people  at  least  cannot  get  along  very  well 
in  their  dealings  with  each  other,  unless  they  speak 
the  truth. 

Shortly  after  this,  Christie  found  that  the  farmer's 
daughter  was  set  to  watch  her  all  the  time,  and 
scarcely  ever  did  any  work  herself.  More  than  this, 
she  began  to  tell  false  stories  to  her  mother  about 
Christie,  who  was  now  often  scolded  severely  and 
without  any  cause.  One  day  the  farmer's  daughter 
broke  a  large  dish,  and  told  her  mother  that  Christie 


TRUTH.  35 


had  done  it,  so  that  Christie  received  much  the  sever- 
est whipping  she  ever  had  in  her  life.  No  one  had 
ever  told  falsehoods  about  her  before,  and  she  began 
to  feel  what  an  ugly  sin  it  was. 

One  day  a  peddler  came  to  the  house,  and  Christie 
was  tempted  to  buy  a  very  pretty  ribbon,  which  he 
offered  to  sell  for  a  few  cents.  So  she  went  to  the 
farmer's  wife  and  asked  if  she  would  please  to  give 
her  a  part  of  her  wages,  as  she  wanted  some  money 
to  use.  *'  Money  1  "  exclaimed  the  woman,  "  you 
don't  earn  the  salt  in  your  porridge  !  "  "But,"  said 
Christie,  "you  promised  to  give  me  wages,"  "What 
if  I  did,"  said  the  woman.'*  "in  this  country,  people 
do  not  keep  their  promises  ; "  and  thereupon  gave 
Christie  a  smart  box  on  the  ear  by  the  way  of  putting 
an  end  to  the  conversation. 

Poor  Christie  soon  found  that  the  promise  of 
clothes  meant  no  more  than  that  of  money,  for  when 
her  own  clothing  wore  out  she  got  only  the  cast-off 
garments  of  the  farmer's  daughter,  and  went  most  of 
the  time  in  rags.  '  She  would  have  run  away  if  she 
could,  but  every  night  she  was  locked  into  her  room, 
and  through  the  day  she  was  watched  so  closely 
that  it  was  impossible  to  escape.  In  her  own  home 
all  about  her  had  been  truthful,  and  she  had  never 
realized  how  much  trouble  and  sorrow  her  own  un- 
truthfulness caused.  But  now  she  saw  what  life  was 
among  people  who  had   no  regard  for  truth.     They 


36  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

were  always  trying  to  deceive  one  another,  and  no 
one  could  trust  another's  promise.  So  there  was 
continual  quarrel  and  strife,  and  nobody  found  any 
real  happiness  in  living. 

One  day  only,  Christie  went  to  school.  There  she 
found  the  same  trials.  It  seemed  to  be  the  main 
effort  of  all  the  children  to  tell  the  worst  lies  they  could 
about  each  other  to  the  teacher,  and  the  teacher  him- 
self encouraged  it,  for  every  day  a  little  before  the 
close  of  school,  he  called  up  some  scholar  and  made 
him  put  on  a  great  pair  of  leathern  spectacles.  He 
must  watch  until  he  found  some  other  scholar  with 
his  eyes  not  on  his  book,  who  was  then  called  up  to 
wear  the  spectacles  and  take  his  place.  So  it  went 
on,  and  the  scholar  who  wore  the  spectacles  when 
school  was  dismissed,  was  to  be  whipped.  So  you 
see  some  one  was  sure  of  a  flogging  every  night. 
None  of  the  scholars  really  cared  to  find  any  one  not 
studying,  but  after  wearing  the  spectacles  for  a  little 
time,  would  call  out  some  one's  name  against  whom 
they  happened  to  have  a  grudge,  and  whether  that 
one's  eyes  were  on  his  book  or  not  he  must  march 
up  and  take  his  turn. 

It  chanced  that  the  farmer's  daughter  w^as  called 
out  this  afternoon,  and  she,  of  course,  declared  that 
Christie  was  not  studying.  Now  Christie  was  entirely 
absorbed  in  her  book,  for  it  was  the  first  time  she  had 
seen  one  for  months.     But  there  was  no  help  for  her. 


TRUTH. 


37 


Up  to  the  master's  desk  she  went  and  put  on  the  spec- 
tacles. She  might  have  done  Hke  the  rest  and  told  a 
lie  to  get  them  off  again.  But  she  had  heard  so  many 
outrageous  falsehoods  in  the  course  of  the  day,  that 
she  felt  no  desire  to  tell  another.  She  could  catch 
nobody  looking  away  from  their  book,  and  as  she  felt 
the  wickedness  of  an  untruth  as  she  never  had  done 
before,  she  had  not  the  smallest  disposition  to  free 
herself  from  her  danger  by  telling  one.  So  the  school 
closed  while  she  was  on  the  floor,  and  she  took  the 
daily  after-school  flogging. 

Poor  Christie  had  found  a  country  where  nobody 
cared  whether  or  not  she  spoke  the  truth,  but  it  was 
not  at  all  what  she  dreamed  it  would  be.  Nobody 
had  confidence  in  her,  and  she  could  trust  nobody. 
Everybody  was  continually  in  a  quarrel,  and  such  a 
thing  as  love  seemed  to  be  entirely  unknown. 

But  Christie  did  finally  escape.  One  afternoon  she 
contrived  to  hide  herself  in  the  barn.  When  she  was 
missed,  the  whole  family  set  off  up  and  down  the 
road  to  look  for  her,  while  she  ran  away  through  the 
field.  By  walking  all  night,  she  got  back  once  more 
among  people  who  loved  the  truth.  This  time  Chris- 
tie told  her  true  story,  and  every  one  believed  her. 
So  food  and  clothes  were  given  to  her,  and  the  farm- 
ers carried  her  from  house  to  house  in  their  carts,  till 
at  length  she  came  to  her  own  home,  entirely  cured 
of  her  habit  of  telling  falsehoods  ;  and  there  she  lived 
after  that,  beloved  and  happy  and  contented. 


^S  SVJynAY  STOIilES. 

By  this  little  story  I  hope  to  make  you  see  that  one 
condition  of  all  the  happiness  there  is  in  the  world,  is 
that  each  should  speak  the  truth.  You  have  seen  in 
early  morning  when  there  was  not  a  breath  of  wind, 
some  little  lake  or  pond  lying  perfectly  smooth  and 
still,  like  a  mirror  in  which  the  trees  and  houses  on 
the  banks  and  the  clouds  overhead  were  perfectly 
reflected.  Now  suppose  you  break  all  this  beautiful 
peace  by  throwing  a  stone  into  the  water  ;  what  hap- 
pens ?  The  ripples  from  that  splash  spread  out  over 
the  surface  of  the  pond,  and  destroy  all  the  beautiful 
pictures  it  contained.  Every  falsehood  we  tell,  is 
like  a  stone  thrown  into  still  waters  ;  it  breaks  up 
that  peace  which  reflects  the  beauty  of  heaven  here 
upon  the  earth. 

It  is  sometimes  hard  to  tell  the  exact  truth,  when 
that  obliges  one  to  confess  a  fault  before  others.  But 
we  must  remember  that  nothing  will  make  others 
despise  and  distrust  us  so  much,  as  to  find  that  we 
have  deceived  them.  If  we  can  all  remember  what 
the  world  would  be  without  truth,  I  think  we  shall 
see  what  the  need  is  that  we  should  all  be  truthful, 
for  we  shall  see  that  no  one  who  is  known  to  tell 
falsehoods  can  be  trusted  or  loved.  That  is  one 
reason  for  speaking  the  truth. 

But  now  I  have  another  to  give.  There  is  some- 
thing living  and  growing  within  us  that  we  call  a 
soul.     Though  we  do   not  see  it,  it  lives  and   grows 


TRUTH.  39 


just  as  truly  as  trees  do  in  the  world  outside  of  us. 
Now  every  untruth  that  we  tell,  is  like  striking  a  tree 
with  an  axe  ;  it  makes  an  ugly  scar  in  aur  hearts, 
and  weakens  the  very  life  of  the  soul.  Let  me  tell 
you  a  little  story  about  this.  Long  ago,  in  the  days 
of  enchantment,  when  there  were  giants  and  fairies 
and  magicians,  there  lived  a  man  neither  very  good 
nor  very  bad,  whom  we  will  call  Pierre.  Pierre  was 
a  very  decent  fellow,  who  went  to  church  on  Sun- 
days, and  never  committed  any  dreadful  sin  on  week- 
days; though  at  the  same  time  he  was  in  no  wise 
remarkable  for  his  virtues.  But  one  day  Pierre  fell 
to  wondering  about  his  soul.  The  Bible  and  the 
Priest  told  him  he  had  a  soul,  and  he  had  always 
believed  their  word,  but  now  for  some  reason  he  felt 
a  great  longing  to  know  for  himself,  whether  the 
Bible  and  the  Priest  were  right.  The  more  Pierre 
thought  about  it,  the  more  unsettled  and  uneasy  did 
he  become,  till  at  last  he  resolved  to  visit  a  certain 
great  magician,  who  lived  in  a  neighboring  city,  to 
see  if  he  could  not  find  some  way  to  set  the  question 
at  rest. 

So  when  he  had  found  the  magician  he  asked  him, 
"Have  I  a  soul.?"  *'Yes!"  ''But  how  do  you 
know  it.?"  asked  Pierre.  *' I  see  them,"  was  the 
reply.  "  But  can  you  make  me  see  my  own  soul  .?  " 
asked  Pierre  again.  "  I  can,"  said  the  magician, 
*'  but  only  on  these  conditions ;  I  can  separate  your 


40  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

soul  from  your  body,  so  that  it  will  live  outside  of 
you ;  but  in  this  case,  all  men  can  see  it  as  well  as 
yourself,  and  it  will  be  continually  at  your  side 
Avherever  you  turn.  Besides  this,  it  will  be  a  twelve- 
month and  a  day,  before  you  can  have  your  soul  put 
back  into  your  body  again."  ''  I  accept  the  condi- 
tions," said  Pierre,  "  only  let  me  see  my  soul  and 
know  that  I  have  got  one."  So  the  magician  waved 
his  wand,  repeating  a  form  of  words,  and  lo  !  there 
stood  at  Pierre's  side  a  figure,  very  much  resembling 
himself,  except  that  its  face  was  somewhat  wrinkled 
and  scarred,  and  its  dress,  which  had  originally  been 
white,  was  much  soiled  and  torn.  "  Are  you  my 
soul  ? "  asked  Pierre.  The  figure  said  nothing,  but 
rather  mournfully  nodded  its  head.  *'  Well,  I  must 
say,"  said  Pierre,  "  I  hoped  to  see  something  more 
beautiful."  '*  You  alone  are  to  blame,"  said  the 
magician;  "for  the  soul  is  just  v/hat  men  make  of  it. 
But  now  go  home,  and  come  to  me  again  when  a  year 
and  a  day  are  gone.  I  will  then  put  your  soul  back 
in  its  proper  place." 

So  Pierre  went  out  into  the  streets ;  the  people 
whom  he  met  all  stared  to  see  the  figure  marching 
closely  at  his  side,  and  always  keeping  its  place,  no 
matter  how  quickly  he  might  turn.  But  in  the  city, 
he  did  not  care,  for  nobody  knew  him,  and  it  was  dark 
before  he  reached  home,  so  that  he  escaped  the 
observation  of  his  friends  until  he  came  to  his  own 


TRUTH.  41 


house.  Here  his  housekeeper  stared  at  the  figure, 
much  too  astonished  even  to  ask  who  it  was.  Now 
Pierre  was  a  little  ashamed  to  own  it  as  his  soul,  so 
he  said,  "  This  is  a  brother  of  mine  just  home  from  a 
long  journey."  Thereupon  the  figure  uttered  a  sharp 
cry,  and  when  Pierre  looked  round,  it  was  all  doubled 
up  as  if  w^ith  a  terrible  pain  in  the  side.  But  it  said 
not  a  word,  and  the  pain  after  a  time  seemed  to  wear 
away.  Now  the  soul  being  out  of  4iis  body,  Pierre 
felt  no  twinge  of  conscience  when  he  told  an  un- 
truth. The  soul  outside  suffered  for  it,  but  that  did 
not  trouble  Pierre,  and  he  soon  became  the  most 
outrageous  liar  ever  heard  of.  And  day  by  day,  as 
Pierre  went  on,  the  figure  by  his  side  grew  shabbier 
and  more  wrinkled,  and  continually  shriveled  away. 

At  first  people  shunned  him,  because  of  this  mys- 
terious figure  always  at  his  side.  But  his  neighbors 
became  accustomed  to  it  after  a  while,  and  began 
to  pity  Pierre.  He  would  not  work,  complaining 
always  that  he  was  sick,  and  went  about  telling  sor- 
rowful tales  of  his  pain  and  poverty,  though  in  fact 
he  was  entirely  healthy,  and  lived  like  a  prince  on 
what  people  gave  him.  He  would  lie  not  only  to  get 
a  living,  but  just  for  the  pleasure  of  deceiving  peo- 
ple, and  getting  them  into  quarrels  with  each  other. 
But  every  day  the  figure  at  his  side  grew  thinner  and 
paler,  till  at  last  Pierre  began  to  say  to  himself,  "  If 
this  sort  of  thing  goes  on,  I  shan't  have  any  soul  at 
6 


42  SUNDAY  S TOBIES. 

all  to  put  back  into  my  body  when  the  twelve-month 
comes  round."  So  in  great  fear  and  trouble  he  went 
off  to  beg  the  magician  either  to  restore  him  his  soul 
at  once,  before  it  withered  up  out  of  sight,  or  to  tell 
how  he  could  bring  it  back  to  its  former  size  and 
health.  But  the  magician  would  tell  him  nothing 
save  to  come  when  the  year  and  the  day  had  expired, 
and  sent  him  off  again. 

As  Pierre  went  out  upon  the  street  in  a  dejected 
and  absent-minded  mood,  an  old  woman  accosted  him, 
and  asked  him  the  way  to  a  certain  place.  If  he  had 
been  thinking  what  he  was  doing,  he  would  doubtless 
have  sent  her  far  out  of  her  way,  for  the  pleasure  of 
thinking  he  had  deceived  her;  but  instead  he  told 
her  the  direction,  truthfully,  and  when  he  looked  up 
again  he  thought  that  the  figure  at  his  side  appeared 
brighter.  This  put  him  into  so  much  better  spirits, 
that  when  he  met  a  man  whom  he  had  cheated  a  few 
days  before  in  a  bargain,  he  at  once  confessed  that 
he  had  told  an  untruth,  and  set  the  matter  straight. 
When  he  again  looked  about,  the  figure  really 
appeared  quite  beautiful,  and  Pierre  could  not  mis- 
take the  cause  of  the  change.  He  went  home  and 
made  it  his  first  business  to  right  all  the  wrongs  he 
had  done,  and  correct  all  the  falsehoods  he  had  set 
afloat ;  and  day  by  day  he  grew  more  pleased  with 
the  new  beauty  and  health  which  came  back  to  his 
soul.     He  learned  to  cling  to  the  truth  with   much 


TRUTH.  43 


more  scrupulous  exactness  than  ever  he  had  done 
before,  and  when  the  twelve-month  was  done,  he 
went  back  to  the  magician  proudly,  his  soul  without 
wrinkle  or  scar  or  stain. 

Of  course  it  is  not  true  that  any  man's  soul  can  be 
separated  from  his  body  and  both  live :  that  I  have 
only  imagined.  But  it  is  true  that  if  it  could  be,  we 
should  see  it  so  shriveled  up  by  lies,  and  so  made  fair 
and  beautiful  by  truth,  just  as  Pierre's  was.  What  I 
want  you  to  remember  is  that  though  you  do  not  see 
your  own  souls,  just  this  happens  to  them,  according 
as  you  are  truthful  or  untruthful. 

Now  I  have  given  you  two  reasons  for  speaking 
the  truth,  first,  that  without  it  there  can  be  no  love 
or  peace  between  you  and  others ;  secondly,  that 
every  falsehood  makes  an  ugly  scar  in  your  own  souls. 
If  you  will  always  keep  these  reasons  in  mind,  I  am 
sure  that  no  temptation  can  lead  you  to  say  a  word 
that  you  know  to  be  untrue. 


IV. 

HUMILITY. 


Ill  honor  preferring  one  another. — Romans,  ii.  lo. 

A  NOTED  clergyman  once  preached  on  a  Western 
steamboat  from  the  text,  "  In  honor  preferring 
one  another."  As  he  tells  the  story,  the  passengers 
were  grouped  together  on  the  main  deck,  and  appeared 
to  listen  very  intently.  He  really  thought  as  he  saw 
their  eyes  now  glistening  with  enthusiasm,  now  fill- 
ing with  tears,  that  he  was  making  an  impression 
which  would  lead  them  to  prefer  one  another.  So  the 
service  closed  with  great  interest.  But  just  as  the 
last  notes  of  the  concluding  hymn  were  dying  away, 
the  dinner  gong  sounded,  and  the  congregation  at 
once  became  a  mob,  pushing  and  scramblino-  for  the 
best  places  at  table,  and  the  first  chance  at  the  best 
dishes.  That  showed  how  little  he  had  taught  them, 
after  all,  about  the  duty  of  preferring  one  another. 

Now  I  know  very  well  that  every  child  here  is  too 
well-bred  ever  to  engage  in  such  a  scramble  as  that. 
I  know  you  would  never  crowd  in  to  dinner  like 
cattle.  But  though  good  manners  are  worth  a  great 
deal,  they  are  not  everything,  especially  in  this  mat- 
ter of  preferring  one  another.  For  you  must  know 
that  people    who  pass  outwardly  for  gentlemen  and 


HUMILITY.  45 


ladies,  are  often  very  selfish,  and  when  they  can  do  so 
without  a  breach  of  etiquette,  show  it  very  plainly 
in  their  action.  You  must  not  think  of  this  saying 
as  only  meaning  that  we  should  politely  give  place  to 
another  at  table  or  in  conversation.  This  is  well  so 
far  as  it  goes,  but  it  does  not  go  very  far.  When  we 
come  to  give  up  to  another  a  place  that  we  really 
prize,  out  of  love  for  that  other,  and  because  we 
would  rather  see  him  happy  in  the  place  than  to  have 
it  ourselves,  that  is  what  the  saying  means. 

Listen  while  I  try  to  tell  you,  by  means  of  a  few 
stories,  how  noble  this  is.  Perhaps  in  the  course 
of  your  reading  you  have  chanced  upon  the  story  of 
some  large  family,  the  father  of  which  was  too  poor 
to  give  all  his  boys  an  education,  and  so  all  the  rest 
have  cheerfully  worked,  and  saved,  and  given  up 
many  of  their  bright  dreams,  to  s^nd  one  among 
them  to  college.  Think  of  that,  you  boys  who  enjoy 
so  many  advantages  without  realizing  that  they  cost 
a  great  deal.  What  if  your  brothers  and  sisters,  who 
thirst  for  knowledge  as  much  as  you,  were  working 
hard  from  morning  till  night,  denying  themselves 
pleasure,  and  putting  aside  their  own  hopes,  in  order 
that  you  might  attend  school.  Should  you  feel  that 
you  could  ever  repay  them  ?  Or  should  you  feel  that 
you  could  ever  sufficiently  love  and  admire  them  for 
having  preferred  you  before  themselves?  Let  me 
tell  you  there  are  many  children  doing  that  very  thing 
<"o-dav. 


46  SUNDAY  STOBIES. 

There  were  once  at  school  together,  two  boys  who 
were  fast  friends,  and  who  were,  beyond  question,  the 
best  and  brightest  boys  of  their  class.  In  that 
school  there  was  a  scholarship-prize,  to  be  given  to 
the  one  who,  both  in  lessons  and  deportment,  should 
best  satisfy  his  teachers.  Both  of  these  boys  worked 
hard  for  it  and  expected  to  ^et  it.  The}"  were  fond 
of  thinking  how  they  should  feel,  when  they  stood 
before  their  classmates  to  receive  the  prize  and 
afterwards  carried  it  home  to  their  friends. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  they  were  so  nearly  even 
at  the  end  of  the  term,  that  their  teachers  were 
unable  to  decide  between  them.  To  say  that  either 
was  first  would  be  doing  wrong  to  the  other,  and  yet 
there  was  only  one  prize.  So  when  the  day  came,  it 
was  announced  that  the  two  v/ere  equally  deserving, 
and  the  matter  could  only  be  decided  by  lot.  The 
one  upon  whom  the  lot  fell  should  have  the  prize,  and 
the  other  must  be  content  with  knowing  that  he  was 
just  as  well  entitled  to  it.  So  a  number  of  little 
papers  were  put  into  a  box,  upon  one  of  which  was 
written  the  word  ''prize,"  and  they  were  to  draw  by 
turns  until  one  of  them  should  get  that  piece. 

Of  course  both  were  anxious.  But  one  of  them 
was  the  son  of  poor  parents,  and  as  his  school-days 
ended  there,  it  was  his  last  chance  to  win  such  an 
honor.  The  other  and  older  was  to  go  on  and 
complete  his  studies. 


HUMILITY.  47 


The  drawing  went  forward,  and  presently  the  latter 
boy  drew  from  the  box  and  held  up  before  them  all,  a 
paper  upon  which  they  could  all  read  "  Prize."  Then 
there  was  loud  applause,  and  for  an  instant  the  victor 
felt  his  heart  full  of  happiness.  But  turning  to  his 
rival,  he  saw  the  shade  of  disappointment  upon  his 
face  ;  the  quivering  lip  ;  the  coming  tears  which  he 
was  manfully  fighting  to  hold  back,  and  which  told 
how  much  he  prized  the  place  he  had  lost.  Quick  as 
thought  it  flashed  upon  his  mind  that  for  his  rival 
this  was  the  last  day  of  school,  while  there  were 
many  honors  that  he  might  work  for.  Instantly  he 
stepped  forward,  holding  out  in  his  hand  the  paper  he 
had  drawn,  and  said,  **  I  acknowledge  you  to  be  the 
better  scholar,  and  freely  give  to  you  the  prize."  Then 
indeed  a  shout  went  up,  and  the  tears  which  ill-luck 
could  hardly  wring  from  the  younger  boy,  made  a 
rainbow  in  his  eyes,  as  his  smile  of  gratitude  shone 
throuo'h  them. 

o 

What  do  you  think  of  such  generosity .?  I  think 
that  if  the  boy  who  thus  gave  up  what  fairly  belonged 
to  him,  had  lived  to  be  as  old  as  Methuselah,  he  could 
never  have  done  a  nobler,  or  more  graceful  or  Chris- 
tian act. 

Now  I  trust  you  know  what  the  Bible  means  when 
it  says,   "  In  honor  preferring  one  another." 

Here  now  is  a  story  for  the  little  ones,  with  fairies 
in  it,   and  I  hope  it   may  be  entertaining,  though  if 


48  SUNDAY   STOBIES. 

the  fairies  do  not  act  in  an  interesting  way  of  them- 
selves, I  cannot  promise  to  make  them. 

Long  ago,  as  you  will  read  in  the  books,  Eng- 
land was  full  of  elves  and  fays.  In  the  hills  they 
had  great  caverns  lighted  by  diamonds,  carpeted 
by  flowers  and  filled  with  the  music  of  running- 
brooks.  Here  they  dwelt  through  the  day,  but 
at  night  the  rocks  opened,  and  they  came  forth  in 
troops  to  dance  under  the  moonlight.  There  were 
fairies  good  and  fairies  mischievous ;  some  who 
spent  their  time  in  playing  pranks  upon  mortals,  and 
others  who  dehghted  to  make  little  children  happy. 
They  very  often  came  disguised  as  little  old  women, 
as  Cinderella's  god-mother,  you  will  remember,  came 
to  her. 

Not  far  away  from  the  castle  where  the  king  lived 
part  of  the  year,  under  the  shadow  of  a  lonely  hill- 
side, dwelt  a  forester  and  his  two  children.  The 
oldest  was  a  boy  just  getting  into  his  teens,  and, 
as  boys  are  somewhat  apt  to  do,  he  thought  himself 
a  great  deal  more  of  a  personage  than  he  really  was. 
He  had  once  been  to  the  town,  and  was  never  weary 
of  astonishing  his  little  sister  with  tales  of  what  he 
had  there  seen  and  done.  And  generally,  he  was 
wont  to  display  before  her  admiring  eyes  his  supe- 
rior wisdom.  She,  some  years  younger,  and  very 
beautiful,  was  excessively  proud  and  fond  of  her  big 
brother.     The  only  bit  of  the  great   world  that  she 


HUMILITY. 


49 


had  seen,  was  once  when  the  King  rode  that  way, 
upon  a  hunt.  For  the  rest,  she  devoutly  beheved 
what  Richard  told  her,  and  when  he  was  away  in  the 
forest  with  his  father,  drew  pictures  in  her  mind,  and 
dreamed  dreams  of  what  should  come  to  pass,  all  the 
day  long. 

One  day  as  twilight  was  falling,  Ethel  sat  in  the 
door  of  her  cottage,  thinking  what  she  would  do  if 
she  were  rich,  when  some  one  said  over  her  shoulder, 
"  Child,  would  you  like  to  come  with  me  "■  "  She 
turned  her  head,  and  no  doubt  any  one  of  you  could 
tell  me  what  she  saw.  Of  course  it  was  a  fairy, 
disguised  as  a  little,  humpbacked,  old  dame,  leaning 
upon  her  staff,  with  good  nature  shining  in  her 
merry  eyes,  and  even  in  the  very  tips  of  her  long, 
crooked  nose  and  chin.  Ethel  was  not  in  the  least 
frightened,  the  old  lady  was  so  little  and  so  pleasant, 
and  besides,  with  a  quick  instinct,  she  knew  who  she 
was.  Still  she  did  not  recover  from  her  astonish- 
ment, until  the  fairy  had  repeated,  "  Would  you  like 
to  go  with  me.''"  Ethel  did  not  in  the  least  know 
where,  but  she  felt  that  it  must  be  to  some  good 
place.  *'  Oh,  if  you  please,"  she  said,  *'  there  is  my 
brother  Richard,  who  is  very  clever.  He  is  older 
than  I,  and  knows  ever  so  much.  I  am  sure  you 
would  like  him  better  than  me.  Cannot  you  wait  a 
little  till  he  comes  home,  and  take  him  ,^ " 

"  Yes,  I  know  Richard,"  replied  the  fairy,  some- 
7 


^o  SUNDAY   STOBIES. 

what  coldly  ;  "  but  I  cannot  wait.  However,'  you 
may  tell  him  that  if  he  will  be  in  front  of  the  ledge, 
above  the  pine  grove,  at  moonrise,  he  will  see  and 
hear  something  to  his  advantage." 

So  saying,  she  vanished,  and  Ethel  rose  in  all  haste 
to  meet  her  brother.  Taking  him  aside,  she  told  him 
what  had  occurred,  and  he  was  good  enough  to  say 
that  she  did  quite  right.  "For,"  said  he,  "I  shall, 
make  a  much  finer  figure  among  the  fairies  than  you 
would." 

He  was  vain,  you  see,  and  I  fear  there  are  other 
boys  afiflicted  in  that  way.  The  moon  did  not  rise 
till  late  that  night ;  nevertheless,  as  soon  as  he  had 
snatched  a  little  supper,  Richard  set  off  for  the  hill- 
side, leaving  many  injunctions  with  his  sister  not  to 
follow.  ''For,"  said  he,  "your  presence  might  spoil 
everything." 

Having  arrived  before  the  ledge,  he  sat  down  upon 
the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  to  wait,  with  what  patience 
he  could,  for  the  appointed  hour.  At  length  the  yel- 
low tip  of  the  new  moon  rose  above  the  trees,  and 
Richard  began  to  hear  music  beneath  the  ground. 
Just  as  the  moon  sailed  clear  of  the  horizon,  the 
great  ledge  swung  open  and  the  fairies  came  rolling- 
out  like  apples  from  an  overturned  basket.  The  boy 
caught  glimpses  within  of  the  dazzling  flash  of  pre- 
cious stones,  and  saw  that  the  mountain  must  contain 
enormous  riches.      He  pressed  hotly  forward,  so  that 


HUMILITY.  51 


as  soon  as  the  entrance  should  be  cleared  he  might 
rush  in.  He  was  in  such  eager  haste  that  he  did  not 
notice  last  of  all  the  Queen  of  the  fairies  herself, 
issuing  forth,  carried  upon  a  tiny  throne.  He 
crowded  rudely  past  her,  and  already  had  his  hand 
upon  the  edge  of  the  rock,  when  it  swung  to  and 
caught  his  fingers  in  a  crevice;  not  with  force 
enough  to  hurt  them  seriously,  but  still  enough  to 
hold  them  prisoner,  and  make  him  roar  lustily  with 
pain. 

The  elves  all  set  up  a  great  shout  at  sight  of  him 
in  this  misfortune ;  but  the  Queen  touched  the  rock 
with  her  sceptre,  and  it  opened  a  little,  till  he  could 
draw  his  aching  fingers  out.  She  bade  him  show  his 
hand  to  her,  and  laying  her  wand  across  it,  instantly 
it  was  made  whole  and  sound.  Then,  being  free 
from  pain,  he  ceased  his  dismal  howling,  and  be- 
thought himself  to  make  his  best  bow  before  her 
majesty.  "  I  have  summoned  you  here,"  she  said, 
"  to  ask  what  it  is  you  most  desire,  since  I  mean  to 
teach  you  a  useful  lesson,  and  to  put  you  in  the  way 
of  being  a  great  man."  ''I  desire  most  of  all,"  Said 
the  boy,  "  great  riches,  that  I  may  go  to  Court  and 
then  become  a  nobleman  —  perhaps,  after  a  while, 
even  King."  *'  But  you  have  a  sister,"  the  Queen 
reminded  him  ;  "  do  you  wish  nothing  for  her  .-^  " 
"What,  that  little  chit }  "  said  Richard.  "  She  never 
would  make  a  fine  lady.     No,  give  vie  riches,  and  I 


52  SUNDAY   S TOBIES. 

will  buy  her  a  new  dress ;  and,  when  I  am  a  gentle- 
man, sometimes  I  will  hunt  this  way,  and  give  her  a 
piece  of  gold."  "Truly,"  replied  the  Queen,  ''you 
aie  a  generous  youth,  considering  that  you  are  here 
by  favor  of  your  sister.  Now,  listen ;  I  shall  redeem 
the  first  part  of  my  promise,  by  teaching  you  a  lesson, 
and  that  lesson  will  be  to  show  you  what  you  really 
are." 

So  saying,  she  once  more  touched  him  with  her 
wand,  and  lo !  he  was  suddenly  transformed  into  a 
little  grunting  pig.  He  kept  his  own  mind,  for  it 
seems  that  fairies  never  had  power  to  change  that ; 
but  still  he  could  do  nothing  but  run  up  and  down 
and  grunt.  He  was  hungry,  O,  so  hungry !  and 
felt  a  sudden  desire  for  acorns.  So  he  went  poking 
his  nose  through  the  grass,  scattering  the  fairies 
hither  and  thither.  Especially  if  he  saw  a  group  of 
them  perched  upon  a  large  leaf,  he  thought  they 
must  be  hiding  acorns,  and  drove  them  away.  As 
for  them,  they  jumped  upon  his  back  and  pricked 
him  with  thistles,  until  he  squealed  so  that  the  Queen 
was  obliged  to  stop  her  ears. 

All  this  time  he  knew  that  he  was  a  pig,  and  felt 
dreadfully  ashamed  of  himself,  yet  he  could  not  be- 
have any  better  than  he  did. 

Now,  after  her  brother  had  gone,  Ethel  could  not 
sleep  ;  and  when  the  moon  rose,  she  thought  there 
would  be  no  harm  if  she  went  up  toward  the  ledge, 


HUMILITY. 


53 


and  kept  back  out  of  sight.  She  heard  the  fairies 
shout,  but  did  not  come  within  sight  of  the  group 
until  the  Queen  began  her  speech.  She  could  not 
hear  what  was  said,  but,  keeping  watch,  she  saw  her 
brother  transformed  into  a  pig. 

Full  of  grief  and  indignation,  she  darted  forward, 
atid  would  have  attacked  the  Queen,  but  the  uplifted 
wand  seemed  to  chain  her  wdiere  she  stood.  **  You 
naughty,  ugly,  wicked  Queen,"  she  began,  "  give  me 
back  my  beautiful  brother."  "  That  is  not  the  way 
to  address  fairies,  when  you  wish  something  from 
them,"  replied  the  Queen.  Then,  waving  her  wand 
three  times  about  her  head,  the  fairy  troop,  the  pig 
and  all  seemed  to  vanish  into  the  air,  and  Ethel  stood 
once  more  before  the  little  old  dame,  who  beamed 
upon  her  good-naturedly. 

Ethel  now  began  to  weep  and  beseech  the  fairy 
that  she  would  find  her  brother  and  restore  him  to 
his  right  shape.  *'  Impossible,"  said  the  Queen,  for 
it  was  she.  "  You  alone  can  do  that.  But  dry  your 
eyes,  child;  trust  in  me,  and  all  will  yet  be  well." 
Then  she  bade  Ethel  take  her  crutch,  and  as  soon  as 
she  touched  it  she  felt  herself  growing  light  as  air. 
It  was  not  long  before  she  found  that  the  trees  and 
the  hills  were  gliding  beneath  her,  and  clapping  her 
hands  with  glee,  she  exclaimed,  "  Why,  we  are  actu- 
ally flying."  And  so  they  were,  far,  far  away  ;  and 
yet  so  swiftly  that  almost  in  a  breath  they  alighted  in 


54  SUNDAY   S TOBIES. 

a  magnificent  garden,  before  a  palace.  Dazzling 
lio:hts  shone  from  all  the  windows,  and  amons:  the 
trees.  People  in  brilliant  dresses,  covered  with 
jewels,  were  walking  about,  while  the  most  delicious 
music  swelled  and  died  away  with  the  soft  evening 
breeze. 

Ethel  caught  the  sparkle  of  something  upon  h$r 
arm,  as  she  stood  under  a  lamp,  and  looking  down 
she  found  it  to  be  a  diamond  bracelet.  All  at  once 
she  discovered  that  she  was  dressed  completely,  like 
the  others,  only  with  much  more  magnificence.  And 
the  fairy  whispered  in  her  ear,  *'It  is  a  grand  ball, 
given  by  the  young  Prince.  Go  in,  child  ;  be  happy, 
and  forget  your  brother." 

At  these  words,  Ethel's  grief  again  burst  forth, 
and  she  besought  the  fairy  Queen  to  find  Richard, 
and  dress  him  in  the  jewels  which  she  wore.  "  I 
shall  be  much  happier,"  she  said,  "  to  wait  in  my 
rags  at  the  Palace  gate  and  see  him  as  he  passes  by." 
''Well,"  replied  the  Queen,  "go  in  then  and  find 
your  brother;  he  will  be  there.*  So  Ethel  eagerly 
sprang  forward  and  entered  the  palace. 

As  she  entered  the  halls,  every  one  was  amazed  at 
her  beauty,  and  many  were  the  whispered  conjec- 
tures who  the  lovely  young  Princess  might  be.  She 
moved  here  and  there  apparently  seeking  some  one, 
and  there  was  a  shade  of  sadness  and  expectancy 
upon  her  face  which  made  her  appear  all  the  more 


HUMILITY.  25 


beautiful.  Many  invitations  she  received  to  join  in 
the  dance,  but  she  excused  herself. 

At  length  the  Prince  himself  honored  her  with  an 
invitation,  and  she  danced  with  him  more  than  once. 
Certainly  he  was  very  good  and  very  graceful,  and 
more  than  all,  he  was  without  doubt  desperately  in 
love  with  her.  But  though  she  was  charmed  by  his 
company,  she  could  not  forget  Richard,  and  as  often 
as  the  Prince  asked  her  name,  she  said,  "  Let  me 
first  find  my  brother."  Suddenly  there  was  a  great 
uproar.  Ladies  screamed,  courtiers  laughed,  and 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  drive  something  out  of  the 
Palace.  Ethel  turned  in  wonderment  to  see  what 
might  be  the  matter,  and  there  she  saw  a  little 
panting,  squealing  pig,  darting  hither  and  thither, 
knocking  the  gentlemen's  feet  from  under  them,  and 
getting  himself  terribly  entangled  in  the  long  dresses 
of  the  ladies. 

With  a  cry  of  joy  Ethel  sprang  through  the  crowd 
and  caught  him  up  in  her  arms.  He  appeared  to 
know  her,  and  as  best  he  was  able  testified  his  joy  at 
having  found  her.  That  is  to  say  he  looked  up  into 
her  face,  grunted  in  a  satisfied  way,  and  wiggled  his 
little  tail  incessantly.  No  one  dared  laugh  now  that 
the  beautiful  Princess  had  taken  the  pig  under  her 
protection.  While  all  kept  silence,  she  walked  slowly 
out  of  the  Palace,  and  nobody  was  so  ill-bred  as  to 
follow  her. 


56  SUNDAY   S TOBIES. 

Long  she  wandered  about  the  garden,  trying  to 
find  the  good  fairy  ;  and  all  the  while  she  held  her 
poor  brother  close  to  her  heart,  wept  over  him,  and 
called  him  an  endless  number  of  pet  names.  But 
the  fairy  could  nowhere  be  found,  and  at  last  in 
despair,  Ethel  seated  herself  in  a  little  arbor,  to  wait 
for  the  morning,  when  she  thought  she  would  try 
and  find  her  way  back  home. 

The  light  fell  through  the  trees,  and  as  she  looked 
down  into  the  pig's  face,  she  thought  his  eyes  had  a 
more  human  look.  She  watched  for  a  moment,  and 
felt  sure  that  a  change  was  taking  place.  And  so  it 
was,  for  her  rich  love,  more  potent  than  all  fairy, 
wands,  was  slowly  restoring  Richard  to  his  own  form. 
The  fairy  could  only  make  him  appear,  outwardly, 
what  he  was  inwardly ;  but  his  sister's  love  was  able 
to  change  his  spirit,  so  that  a  beautiful  human  form 
belonged  to  him. 

You  may  be  sure  Ethel  was  half  wild  with  delight, 
when  she  saw  her  brother  coming  to  himself  again  ; 
and  the  more  caresses  she  heaped  upon  him,  the 
faster  the  process  went  forward.  At  last  he  was 
fully  restored,  and  able  to  say  in  his  own  voice,  only 
softer  and  sweeter  than  it  used  to  be,  "  Oh,  sister ! 
how  beautiful  you  are  !  how  beautiful  you  are  !  Now 
you  are  really  a  Princess  and  I  will  be  your  servant." 

At  these  words,  the  bushes  beside  them  rustled, 
and   out   stepped  the  Fairy   Queen,   this    time  as  a 


HUMILITY.  57 


Queen  again,  with  her  magnificent  sceptre  and 
crown.  "  So  you  have  learned  your  lesson  well,  I  am 
glad  to  see,"  she  said,  ''and  are  at  length  willing  to 
prefer  some  one  else  before  yourself." 

Ethel  was  inclined  to  be  a  little  indignant  at  this 
speech,  for  she  was  so  good  that  she  did  not  think 
her  brother  had  need  of  such  a  lesson.  Richard, 
however,  made  haste  to  acknowledge  his  error,  and 
the  Queen,  entirely  satisfied,  promised  them  her 
favor,  telling  them  at  the  same  time  that  a  noble 
mind  was  worth  more  than  all  she  could  bestow. 
To  conclude,  Ethel  married  the  Prince,  and  Richard 
rose  to  be  a  great  man,  beloved  by  everybody ;  for 
whenever  he  felt  inclined  to  put  himself  before 
others,  he  always  remembered  how  he  had  been  a 
pig,  and  what  saved  him  from  being  a  pig  all  his  life. 

I  suppose  none  of  you  children  have  any  fear  that 
you  will  be  changed  into  pigs,  but  I  hope  you 
will  remember  that  the  disposition  sometimes  shines 
through  the  face  in  such  a  way  as  to  suggest  a  pig, 
very  unpleasantly,  to  others.  And  let  us  all  remem- 
ber that  to  prefer  one  another  in  honor,  as  it  raises 
us  above  the  beasts  and  makes  us  human,  also  makes 
us  disciples  of  Jesus  and  children  of  God. 


V. 

TEMPER. 

Resist  the  Devil,  and  he  will  flee  from  you. — James  iv.  7. 

/^^NE  summer  day  of  an  olden  time,  when  your 
^^^  great,  great  grandfathers  and  grandmothers 
were  girls  and  boys  together,  and  when,  where  cities 
and  villages  now  stand,  there  stretched  away  broad 
meadows  and  shady  groves,  a  group  of  bright-eyed 
farmers'  children,  as  fair  as  the  cloudless  sky  above 
their  heads,  and  as  light-hearted  as  the  birds  whose 
songs  blended  with  their  merry  laugh,  went  romping 
through  the  fields  of  new-mown  hay.  Nowhere  can 
one  be  gayer  than  in  the  hay-field.  The  odor  of  the 
bleaching  grass  steals  away  all  care,  and  seems  to 
carry  the  freshness  which  the  sun  takes  out  of  the 
sweet-scented  clover,  into  one's  heart. 

So  these  children  went  up  and  down  the  long 
mowers'  swaths,  singing,  shouting,  throwing  at  each 
other  the  half-made  hay,  and  making  the  distant  hills 
echo  their  laughter ;  not  so  much  because  anything 
really  funny  occurred,  as  because  they  felt  so  happy 
that  they  must  laugh. 

Suddenly,  as  though  all  their  hearts  had  been 
touched    by  a  flash   of    lightning,   every   particle   of 


TEMPER.  5Q 


mirth  died  out  of  them.  Where  a  moment  before  all 
had  been  gayety  and  life,  they  stood  with  pale  faces 
and  hushed  breath,  all  eyes  fixed  upon  the  two  oldest 
boys  of  the  group. 

These  boys  had  been  lashing  each  other  with 
wisps  of  hay,  in  high  glee,  until  one,  by  accident,  in 
seizing  a  new  handful,  had  grasped  a  large  thistle 
and  struck  his  companion  with  it  across  his  face. 
He  did  not  in  the  least  know  what  he  had  done, 
and  the  first  intimation  he  had  that  their  play  was 
interrupted  was  a  stinging  blow  from  his  companion, 
which  sent  him  reeling  backward.  Now,  just  as  the 
attention  of  the  rest  was  called  to  the  scene,  he  had 
gathered  himself  up  and  sprung  back  to  return  the 
blow\ 

There  the  two  stood,  while  the  rest  w^aited  in 
terror  for  what  should  follow  —  the  one  sullenly 
guarding  himself  from  attack,  the  other  with  dis- 
tended nostril,  eyes  flashing  fire,  and  arm  raised  to 
strike.  An  instant  they  stood  thus  ;  then  the  one 
who  was  about  to  strike  drew  back  his  arm,  turned 
on  his  heel,  and  walked  quickly  away. 

It  was  all  done  in  less  time  than  I  have  taken  to 
tell  it,  but  in  none  too  short  a  time  to  spoil  all  the 
happiness  of  the  party.  It  mattered  not  now  how 
bright  the  sun  might  shine,  there  was  a  heavy  cloud 
over  them,  and  their  hearts  w^ere  gloomy.  The  birds 
were  still  singing,  the  bees  humming,  and  from  afar 


6o  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

came  the  ring  of  the  mowers'  scythes.  Nothing  of 
it  all  did  they  hear,  for  they  could  think  only  of  the 
angry  scene  they  had  just  witnessed. 

Silently  plucking  at  the  grasses  they  still  held  in 
their  hands,  they  slowly  moved  on  in  the  direction 
taken  by  the  boy  who  had  refused  to  fight,  keeping 
as  by  a  common  instinct,  apart  from  him  who  had 
struck  the  blow  ;  a  blow  not  only  upon  the  other's 
cheek,  but  to  all  their  sport. 

He  alone  affected  a  hollow  kind  of  mirth,  whistled, 
laughed,  and  in  a  mocking  way  made  remarks  not 
very  complimentary  to  the  courage  of  his  playmate. 
The  other  had  walked  across  the  meadow  and  thrown 
himself  down  in  the  shade  of  a  huge  tree,  under 
which  the  workmen  ate  their  dinners  and  kept  their 
drink. 

Thither  the  rest  followed  ;  and,  as  they  came  up  to 
him,  he  was  forced  to  hear  a  few  loud  and  bitter 
taunts.  But,  though  rather  nervous  and  pale,  he  still 
kept  silent,  and  so  the  whole  party  found  themselves 
seated  upon  the  smoothly-shaven  turf,  trying  hard  to 
look  and  act  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 
'  Some  one  proposed  that  they  should  tell  stories, 
and  one  or  two  fairy  tales  were  attempted.  These, 
however,  were  not  very  well  received.  Instead  of 
that  close  attention  which  children  are  wont  to  pay 
to  such  tales,  the  wandering  eyes  and  listless  looks 
told  that  no  enthusiasm  was  to  be  roused  that  day 
by  stories  of  Elfinland. 


TEMPER.  6 1 


At  last  one  happened  to  mention  the  Devil,  and 
suddenly  all  seemed  to  be  interested.  In  that  day 
almost  every  one  believed  in  the  Devil,  horns  and 
hoofs,  and  many  wonderful  incidents  were  related  of 
people  who  had  seen  him  and  felt  his  power.  First, 
the  minister's  daughter  had  to  tell  what  she  had 
found  in  a  book  in  her  father's  library,  about  a  great 
man  called  Luther,  to  whom  the  Devil  had  many 
times  appeared. .  Others  were  ready,  and  the  stories 
were  coming  thick  and  fast,  when  up  spoke  the  hot- 
tempered  lad,  who  a  little  while  before  had  wanted  to 
fight,  saying  that  all  such  stories  were  nonsense,  for 
there  was  no  such  thins:  as  a  devil. 

He  was  the  son  of  a  man  about  whom  there  was 
some  mystery,  because  he  seemed  to  have  a  better 
educa'tion  than  most  of  the  little  farming  community. 
Still,  as  he  had  fallen  quietly  into  their  ways,  no 
open  distrust  of  him  had  shown  itself.  Whether  the 
boy  had  heard  it  from  his  father,  or  gathered  it  from 
books  which  the  more  zealous  Puritans  would  not  be 
likely  to  own,  certain  it  is  that  he  entirely  disbe- 
lieved in  any  such  being  as  a  Devil ;  and  now, 
when  his  companions  rather  held  aloof  from  him, 
he  showed  his  resentment  by  calling  them  fools  for 
believing  such  silly  trash.  They,  of  course,  were 
horrified.  Deny  the  Devil !  Why,  it  was  almost  as 
bad  as  denying  God.  And  so  they  all  set  to  work  to 
refute  his  terrible  doctrine.     Whv,  there  was  Deacon 


62  SUNDAY   STOUIES. 

A.,  who  only  a  little  time  before,  going  through  a 
piece  of  woods,  after  nightfall,  had  seen  the  Devil's 
great  fiery  eyes  looking  over  a  stump.  Moreover, 
his  black  horns  had  been  dimly  visible,  and  he  was 
distinctly  heard  to  switch  his  tail  among  the  bushes. 

The  young  heretic  of  course  maintained  that  it 
might  have  been  a  belated  cow ;  but  this  explana- 
tion was  scouted.  Then  there  was  old  Goody  Gloom, 
who  lived  in  a  little  hut  all  by  herself,  down  under 
the  hill,  and  who  said  that  many  a  time  the  Devil 
had  come  down  her  rude  chimney  of  sticks  and  mud, 
and  blown  the  fire  in  her  face.  As  well  as  she  could 
for  the  smoke  in  her  eyes,  she  had  seen  his  black 
form  moving  about  the  hearth  ;  but,  more  than  all, 
had  heard  his  fiendish  chuckle,  as  he  swept  up  the 
chimney  again. 

To  this  it  was  replied  that  Goody  Gloom  was  mad, 
and  no  wonder  the  wind  played  pranks  with  such  a 
crazy  old  chimney  as  hers.  Then  they  quoted  Scrip- 
ture to  him ;  all  the  texts  they  could  think  of  in 
which  the  Devil  was  mentioned ;  till  at  last  some  one 
chanced  to  think  of  the  verse,  "  Resist  the  Devil  and 
he  will  flee  from  you."  "  That  is  a  very  good  text, 
children,"  broke  in  a  deep  voice  behind  them,  and  for 
the  first  time  they  were  made  aware  that  some  one 
was  overhearing  their  controversy. 

•  As  they  turned  about,  there  stood  the  father  of  the 
boy  against  whom  they  were  defending  their  belief. 


TEMPER. 


63 


So  busily  were  they  all  engaged,  that  they  had  not 
seen  his  approach;  and,  with  a  half-amused  smile 
upon  his  kindly  face,  he  had  stood  for  some  time, 
unperceived,  listening  to  their  talk. 

'"Resist  the  Devil  and  he  will  flee  from  you.' 
That  is  a  very  good  text,"  he  now  repeated. 

"There  is  a  Devil,  is  there  not,  sir.^"  they  cried 
out  to  him.  All  but  one,  and  he  held  his  peace,  be- 
fore his  father. 

For  answer  he  only  seated  himself  in  their  midst, 
and  proposed  to  tell  them  a  short  fable.  "  Oh  !  that 
would  be  fine  !  ".  So  they  settled  themselves  as  close 
as  they  could  sit  about  him,  and  signified  by  their 
quietness  that  they  were  ready  for  him  to  begin. 

''There  was  once,"  said  he,  "in  a  certain  well 
regulated  barnyard,  a  young  gosling,  just  turning 
the  corner  of  ganderhood,  who  gave  his  mother 
goose  much  uneasiness.  Beyond  the  yard  and  the 
pond  and  a  little  stretch  of  pasture  land,  over  which 
the  fowls  were  accustomed  to  roam,  was  a  deep,  dark 
wood,  toward  which  this  gosling  had  always  turned  a 
longing  eye  ;  and  he  made  no  secret  of  his  determi- 
nation to  visit  that  unknown  place  some  day,  and 
explore  its  mysteries. 

Now,  there  was  in  the  yard  the  tradition  of  a  fox, 
who  had  once  been  seen  prowling  about,  and  who 
was  supposed  to  have  his  habitation  in  that  wood. 
So  you  may  suppose  it  was  with  no  little  alarm  that 


64  SUNDAY    STORIES. 

the  goose  mother  heard  her  wayward  son  announcing 
his  favorite  project,  and  trying  to  persuade  his  com- 
panions to  join  him.  She  tried  to  frighten  him  with 
stories  that  she  had  heard  of  this  fox,  and  he  dared 
to  say  that  if  there  was  such  a  creature,  he  was  a 
peaceable  enough  beast,  after  all. 

The  geese  and  the  ducks  and  the  hens  were  all 
securely  penned  every  night  at  sundown,  and  this  the 
gosling  took  in  high  dudgeon.  "As  though  there 
were  anything  to  be  afraid  of,"  he  said;  "and  as 
if  they  didn't  know  how  to  take  care  of  themselves." 

So  every  night  he  hissed  and  dodged  about,  and 
made  a  great  ado  about  going  into  the  pen.  But 
once  safely  inside,  the  geese  from  their  corner,  and 
the  ducks  from  theirs,  and  the  hens  from  their  roost 
overhead,  began  to  tell  wonderful  stories  about  this 
fox,  until  they  all  fell  asleep.  Very  likely  some  of 
them,  especially  the  roosters,  dreamed  about  him  all 
night ;  for  every  now  and  then,  one  would  awake  out 
of  his  sleep  with  a  frantic  crow,  as  though  he  were 
already  in  the  jaws  of  the  fox,  and  was  giving  warn- 
ing to  the  others  to  flee  while  yet  there  was  time. 

But  in  these  twilight  talks  among  the  fowls,  there 
were,  in  truth,  some  marvellous  tales  related.  One 
or  two  of  the  older  ducks  had  seen  this  fox  in  the 
daytime,  while  they  were  taking  their  swim  upon  the 
pond  ;  and  one  of  the  hens,  who  by  chance  had  been 
shut  out  of  the  pen  one  night,  and  forced  to  roost  in 


TEMPER. 


a  tree  till  morning,  declared  that  she  had  not  been 
able  to  sleep  a  wink  by  reason  of  his  prowling  about, 
and  makinsr  continual  efforts  to  climb  the  tree. 

These,  having  nobody  to  contradict  them,  vied 
with  each  other,  who  should  tell  the  most  aston- 
ishing story  about  the  fox.  And  the  others,  not  to 
be  outdone,  would  always  cap  the  tale  with  some- 
thing more  wonderful  that  they  had  heard.  It  was 
told  how  this  fox  breathed  fire  and  smoke  from  his 
nostrils  ;  that  he  was  a  great  deal  larger  than  old 
Tom,  the  cart-horse;  that  on  his  feet  he  had  claws 
like  a  hawk,  only  a  great  deal  longer ;  that  his  mouth 
was  filled  with  long,  sharp  teeth,  like  the  prongs  of  a 
pitchfork;  that  on  his  head,  where  ears  should  be, 
rose  long  and  slender  horns,  ever  so  high,  upon 
which,  after  he  had  eaten  his  fill,  he  strung  his  prey, 
as  children  string  raspberries  upon  a  spear  of  grass. 
And  his  tail!  all  agreed  that  never  was  such  a 
tail  read  of  or  heard  of  elsewhere.  It  was  some- 
thing like  a  snake,  only  a  great  deal  longer  than  any 
snake  ever  was  ;  longer  than  the  rope  coiled  up  on 
the  barn  floor,  which  was  used  to  weigh  out  hay  ; 
and  after  he  had  filled  his  stomach  and  his  horns 
with  luckless  fowls,  he  would  bind  up  great  loads  of 
them  with  this  tail,  and  carry  them  on  his  back  like 
a  peddler's  pack. 

As  to  his  manner  of  taking  his  prey,  opinion 
was  divided.  The  old  hen,  who  had  seen  him,  main- 
9 


65  SUNDAY  STOEIES. 

tained  that  by  means  of  his  claws  he  could  climb 
wherever  he  could  find  anything  to  grasp,  strong 
enough  to  hold  him.  All  that  saved  her  that  night, 
she  averred,  was  that  she  had  chosen  rather  a  small 
tree,  the  branches  of  which  broke  off  with  his  weight 
as  often  as  he  tried  to  climb  up  to  her.  As  it  was, 
she  said,  the  tree  was  stripped  as  bare  as  a  bean-pole, 
all  except  the  few  twigs  at  the  very  top  upon  which 
she  sat. 

The  ducks,  on  the  other  hand,  affirmed  that  the 
hen  must  be  mistaken,  for  when  they  had  seen  him 
he  used  his  tail,  on  the  end  of  which  was  a  claw,  like 
a  long  arm,  with  which  he  reached  out  and  grasped 
his  victims.  They  related  that  he  came  down  to  the 
bank,  and  stretched  this  out  over  the  water  after 
them  ;  and,  if  one  of  the  ducks  remembered  rightly, 
one  of  the  flock  at  that  time,  who  was  not  quite 
quick  enough  in  getting  out  of  the  way,  had  been 
seized  and  devoured  on  the  spot.  At  any  rate,  these 
ducks  had  seen  him  in  the  daytime,  and  the  hen  only 
in  the  dark,  so  that  the  majority  listened  to  their 
report. 

But  nothing  of  all  this  convinced  the  young  gander 
of  whom  mention  has  been  made,  and  as  he  was  very 
confident  and  esteemed  himself  quite  an  important 
personage,  he  was  not  slow  to  express  his  opinions. 
These  were  in  effect  not  merely  that  the  stories  of 
the  older  ones  were  partly  false,  but  that  they  were 


TEMPER.  67 


wholly  without  foundation.  In  fact  nobody  should 
make  him  believe  that  there  was  any  fox  at  all  until 
he  had  seen  him  with  his  own  eyes. 

He  did  not  fail  to  point  out  to  his  companions  that 
such  an  awful  monster  as  this  was  painted,  would  not 
leave  a  single  thing  with  feathers  on  its  back  alive  at 
the  end  of  a  year.  Moreover  were  not  his  eyes  as 
good  as  any  one's,  and  if  anybody  ever  saw  a  fox  why 
should  not  he  ! 

So  although  he  did  not  make  much  impression 
upon  his  ow^n  tribe,  nor  upon  the  ducks,  he  finally 
persuaded  some  of  the  more  venturesome  young 
chickens  to  join  him  in  his  favorite  project  of  explor- 
ing the  wood.  And  now  behold  them  cautiously 
stealing  out  of  the  yard  one  by  one  in  the  early 
morning,  while  yet  their  mothers  were  warming 
themselves  in  the  first  rays  of  the  sun,  standing 
about  with  one  foot  drawn  up  into  their  feathers, 
their  heads  nestled  down  into  the  ruffles  about  their 
necks,  and  their  eyes  half  shut  in  a  morning  nap. 
Out  stole  the  adventurers,  picking  up  food  here  and 
there  as  though  only  in  pursuit  of  breakfast,  till  all, 
without  having  excited  any  notice,  were  met  together 
in  the  field.  Then  the  young  gander  assumed  the 
lead,  and  stalking  majestically  before,  at  once  made 
directly  for  the  forest.  Arrived  there  they  plunged 
at  once  into  the  shadows,  and  throughout  the  long 
forenoon    they    had    a    most    lovely    time.      For  the 


68  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

leader  there  were  marshes  and  pools,  in  which  he 
paddled  to  his  heart's  content ;  for  the  others  there 
was  plenty  of  the  most  fertile  scratching  ground,  and 
all  the  bushes  were  so  covered  with  great  flies  that 
they  could  almost  pick  up  their  breakfast  without 
moving  a  step. 

At  length  they  gathered  themselves  together  to 
dress  their  feathers  and  congratulate  each  other  on 
their  good  fortune.  How  they  did  pity  the  poor 
barnyard  slaves  who  were  prevented  by  their  foolish 
fears  from  joining  them.  There  they  were,  toiling  in 
the  hot  sun,  and  doubtless  without  having  yet  found 
half  a  dinner,  ''While  we,"  said  they,  "have  all  the 
time  enjoyed  a  most  delightful  shade." 

Never  would  they  go  back  again  to  that  tiresome 
place,  for  now  it  was  perfectly  evident  that  there  was 
no  more  to  fear  in  the  wood  than  upon  the  roost  at 
home. 

They  had  just  arrived  at  this  most  satisfactory  con- 
clusion, when  out  from  the  bushes  before  them 
peeped  the  head  of  Master  Fox  himself,  who  had 
been  attracted  by  their  loud  cackling.  Evidently  he 
selected  the  goose,  as  being  the  largest  of  the  flock, 
for  his  victim,  and  kept  his  eye  upon  him.  As  for 
the  rest,  they  were  at  once  frightened  without  know- 
ing why,  and  with  shrill  screams  sought  safety  in  the 
branches  of  the  trees. 

The  goose  was  afraid  of  nothing,  and  quietly  stood 


TEMPER.  69 


Still.  The  fox,  finding  that  he  made  no  effort  to 
escape,  came  slowly  forward  to  see  what  it  meant  ; 
when  the  gander  politely  accosted  him,  and  begged 
his  pardon  for  the  unruly  chicks,  who  had  created 
such  a  disturbance.  ''The  fact  is,"  said  he,  ''they 
have  all  their  lives  been  told  silly  tales  about  a 
fox,  said  to  be  a  terrible  enemy  to  all  fowls,  and 
by  some  thought  to  inhabit  this  wood,  and  I  dare 
say  they  imagined  you  might  be  he.  But  in  me," 
continued  he  proudly,  "you  will  find  one  who  never 
gave  ear  to  these  foolish  fancies." 

"  Here  is  easy  game,"  thought  the  fox ;  but  he  knew 
how  to  be  polite.  So  he  courteously  offered  the  hos- 
pitality of  the  wood,  saying  that  he  was  an  old  resi- 
dent there,  and  the  roosters  might  rest  easy  about  the 
fox,  for  in  all  his  rambles  he  had  met  with  no  such 
creature.  "  Near  by,"  said  he,  "  I  have  a  very  pleas- 
ant cave  in  which  I  live,  and  if  you  will  allow  me  to 
point  it  out,  perhaps  you  may  sometimes  be  glad  to 
take  shelter  in  it  in  case  of  a  shower." 

The  gander  would  be  obliged  and  delighted. 
"  Perhaps,"  said  the  fox,  hoping  to  get  another  meal 
out  of  them,  "  your  friends  might  like  to  come  also  ; " 
and  he  cast  his  eye  up  to  the  branches  upon  which 
they  sat.  But  a  hoarse  cackle  told  plainly  that  their 
prejudice  was  unconquerable,  and  so  the  fox  and  the 
goose  marched  off  together. 

As  soon   as   they  were  out  of  sight,   the  roosters 


yo  SUNDAY   STORIES. 

looked  at  each  other  in  dismay,  and  began  to  ask 
what  was  to  be  done.  They  did  not  have  long  to 
consider,  however,  for  presently  a  few  frightened 
shrieks,  and  then  a  sound  as  of  crunching  of  bones, 
made  them  know  that  their  worst  fears  were  realized, 
and  that  the  poor  gander  had  met  his  doom.  Then 
of  one  accord  they  set  up  a  furious  clamor,  and  run- 
ning, flying,  scrambling  they  made  the  utmost  speed 
out  of  the  forest.  Nor  did  they  stop  till,  panting  and 
bruised,  they  found  themselves  once  more  in  the 
barnyard.  Then,  when  the  fowls  were  gathered  at 
night,  they  told  such  stories  as  made  every  heart 
quake  with  fear,  and  eclipsed  the  imagination  of  the 
oldest  among  them. 

"  That  is  the  fable,"  said  the  story-teller,  "  now, 
who  will  tell  me  the  moral  .'' "  "  I  know,"  spoke  up 
one  of  the  yourtgest  of  the  group,  "  there  is  a  Devil, 
but  he  doesn't  have  any  horns."  "Well,  hardly  that," 
said  the  story-teller  smiling,  "  it  is  rather  that  what- 
ever fanciful  stories  may  have  arisen  about  the  Devil, 
there  is  somethinsf  devilish  to  be  afraid  of  and  to 
shun  and  to  fight  against.  As  the  foolishness  of  this 
silly  goose,  so  will  be  yours,  if  you  think  that  because 
these  stories  about  a  devil  who  can  be  seen  are 
untrue,  therefore  you  will  never  be  called  upon  to 
resist  the  Devil. 

"  What  was  it,"  said  the  gentleman,  turning  to  his 
son,  "  what  was  it  that  prompted  you  to  strike  your 


TEMPER. 


71 


playmate,  when  if  you  bad  stopped  to  think  only  an 
instant  you  might  have  known  that  he  meant  you  no 
harm  ?  Was  it  not  something  evil  in  your  own  heart 
that  you  ought  to  have  resisted  ?  What  matters  it  to 
you  that  these  tales  that  the  others  tell  about  a  devil 
with  horns  and  hoofs,  and  fiery  eyes,  are  false,  while 
there  is  something  evil  in  yourself,  which  you  have 
not  learned  to  conquer.  That  is  the  Devil  that  you 
have  to  fear,  your  own  ungovernable  temper.  But  it 
is  said,  '  Resist  the  Devil  and  he  wdll  flee  from  you.' 
How  true  that  is,  may  be  seen  in  the  conduct  of  that 
boy  whom  you  struck.  The  devil  in  his  heart  whis- 
pered, *  Strike  back,'  but  he  resisted  only  for  an 
instant,  as  I  saw,  and  he  was  master  of  himself 
again." 

Then  said  he  to  all  the  children,  what  I  wish 
all  children  would  take  to  heart, —  learn  well  that 
there  will  be  many  struggles  between  evil  thoughts 
and  good  thoughts  in  your  own  souls.  These  evil 
^thoughts  and  wrong  feelings  are  the  real  Devil,  and 
no  matter  what  foolish  stories  ma}'  be  told,  this  devil 
you  will  have  to  meet  and  fight.  If  you  do  not  resist 
him  he  will  lead  you  into  evil  and  ruin.  If  you 
determine  to  put  him  down,  he  soon  flies  from  you, 
and  leav^es  with  you  a  victory,  which  means  safety 
and  peace." 


VI. 
GOOD    AND    BAD    SEED. 


Whatsoever  a  man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap. — Gal.,  vi.  7. 

^  I  ^HERE  was  once  a  farmer,  who  was  called  very 
rich  by  all  his  neighbors,  but  who  wanted  so 
much  to  be  richer  than  he  was,  that  he  could  not 
content  himself  with  the  profits  of  his  ordinary  crops 
of  wheat  and  corn. 

In  that  country,  no  one  had  ever  tried  to  raise 
tobacco,  and  this  farmer,  having  heard  that  a  great 
deal  of  money  could  be  made  from  the  plant,  became 
very  anxious  to  try  the  experiment. 

One  day  a  genuine  Yankee  peddler,  with  his 
lumbering  red  cart  filled  with  all  sorts  of  goods  and 
knick-knacks,  came  that  way,  and  chancing  to  call 
upon  the  farmer  at  his  dinner  hour,  the  two  were 
soon  deeply  engaged  in  trying  to  beat  each  other  at 
a  bargain. 

The  peddler  brought  forth  a  coat,  an  a^Dple-paring 
machine,  a  quantity  of  earthen  and  tin  dishes,  a 
patent  milking-stool,  and  other  attractive  commodi- 
ties ;  but  the  farmer  could  not  agree  with  him  upon 
a  price  for  any  of  them. 

At  length  out  came  a  box  of  garden-seeds.     Did 


GOOD  AND   BAD   SEED.  73 

the  farmer  want  any  thing  in  that  line  ?  The  farmer 
"didn't  exactly  know."  Had  the  peddler  any 
tobacco  seed  ?  Certainly !  Down  went  his  hand 
into  the  depths  of  the  cart,  and  after  some  groping, 
brought  up  a  little  calico  bag,  in  which  was  a  quantity 
of  very  small  seeds  ;  enough  to  make  a  man's  fortune, 
the  peddler  blandly  said. 

There  was  some  further  haggling  about  its  worth, 
but  in  the  end  the  farmer  paid  a  handsome  price,  and 
became  the  possessor  of  it,  together  with  certain 
information  in  regard  to  the  time  and  method  of 
planting,  which  the  peddler  was  very  ready  to  impart 
without  charge. 

So  in  early  spring  of  the  following  year,  the 
farmer  prepared  extensive  hot-beds,  with  great  care 
and  at  considerable  expense.  All  the  neighborhood 
wondered  what  was  going  forward,  but  he  kept  it  a 
close  secret. 

The  seed  was  planted  under  glass,  and  in  due  time, 
up  came  the  little  plants.  Then  some  one  guessed 
that  the  farmer  was  putting  in  a  crop  of  tobacco,  and 
all  the  country-side  at  once  took  deep  interest  in  the 
result  of  the  experiment.  Day  after  day,  as  the 
young  plants  were  taken  from  the  hot-bed  and  trans- 
planted into  the  fields,  men  would  come  and  sit  upon 
the  fence  watching  the  operation.  And  as  they  grew 
up,  all  who  passed  that  way  were  sure  to  stop  and 
take  a  look  at  the  farmer's  tobacco-field. 


74 


SUNDAY  S TOBIES. 


For  a  time  he  was  full  of  triumph  at  the  result. 
He  bought  a  book  which  gave  pictures  of  the  full- 
grown  plant,  and  told  him  how  to  cure  it.  Over  and 
over  he  counted  the  gain  he  would  get  from  its  sale, 
with  great  satisfaction.  But  after  a  while  the  plant 
began  to  send  up  a  long,  slender  stem  above  the 
leaves,  which  he  did  not  find  in  the  picture.  This 
troubled  him,  but  he  held  his  peace,  thinking  it  might 
be  a  different  variety.  People  came  and  inspected 
his  field  and  went  away  laughing.  This  troubled  him 
more.  He  had  certain  uneasy  suspicions  which  he 
did  not  like  to  acknowledge  to  himself. 

At  length  the  stalk  put  forth  a  cluster  of  little 
yellow  flowers,  and  as  he  stood  looking  at  it  dubi- 
ously one  morning,  a  man  came  up  and  said,  "  Well, 
neighbor,  you  have  a  fine  crop  of  mullein  there  !  " 

Mullein  !  The  farmer  had  never  taken  much  notice 
of  that,  as  it  is  only  a  weed.  But  down  into  his 
pasture  he  went  straightway,  and  brought  up  a 
specimen  to  compare.  Sure  enough  he  had  spent 
his  money  and  his  labor  to  raise  a  harvest  of  thrifty 
weeds. 

I  suppose  if  ever  a  man  went  into  a  fury  of  rage 
and  disappointment,  he  was  that  man.  It  was  of  no 
avail,  you  see,  that  he  wanted  to  raise  tobacco.  He 
had  planted  mullein,  and  he  had  nothing  but  mullein 
to  reap. 

Now  it  is  a  very  important  part  of  Christ's  teach- 


GOOD  AXD  BAD   SEED.  75 

ing,  that  whatever  a  man  shall  sow,  not  only  in  his 
field,  but  in  the  garden  of  his  soul,  that  he  must  also 
reap.  "  Men  do  not  gather  grapes  of  thorns,  nor 
figs  of  thistles,"  he  said.  So  if  you  plant  in  your 
minds  the  seeds  of  anger,  and  evil,  and  discontent, 
that  is  the  only  fruit  you  can  gather  in  after  years. 
If  you  would  have  a  harvest  of  goodness  and  love 
and  peace,  you  must  sow  their  seed  in  the  spring- 
time of  your  lives. 

Riding  through  the  country  in  autumn,  you  will 
find  some  fields  of  grain  standing  straight  and  free 
of  weeds,  and  this  the  reapers  will  bind  into  beauti- 
ful, shining  bundles.  In  other  fields  you  will  see 
clusters  of  stout  thistles  mingled  with  the  grain,  and 
the  reapers  at  work  with  gloved  hands  binding 
thistles  and  wheat  together  into  awkward  shapes. 
Now  and  then  the  field  of  a  careless  farmer  will  be 
so  overrun  with  weeds  that  the  grain  cannot  be  bound 
into  sheaves  at  all,  but  only  roughly  scraped  \ip  with 
forks  and  rakes. 

Now  in  most  human  lives  the  thistles  are  mingled 
with  the  wheat.  There  are  a  few  in  which  no  weeds 
seem  to  grow,  and  a  few  which  appear  to  bear  noth- 
ing but  weeds.  But  it  is  all  a  question  what  seed  has 
been  sown.  If  thistles  were  planted,  few  or  many 
thistles  will  come  up,  and  nobody  can  help  it.  That 
is  God's  law,  which  you  may  read  in  any  garden,  and 
which  we  all  find  to  be  true  in  our  own  experience. 


76  SUNDAY   S TOBIES. 

The  seed  of  hate  will  no  more  blossom  into  love, 
than  roses  will  grow  upon  a  bean-stalk.  Every  thing 
bears  fruit  of  its  own  kind,  and  if  we  would  have  no 
weeds  in  our  lives,  we  must  be  careful  not  to  plant 
them. 

Children  must  be  especially  careful  what  kind  of 
seeds  they  put  into  their  minds,  for  though  the  weeds 
of  evil  thousfhts  and  evil  habits  can  some  of  them  be 
rooted  up,  others  get  so  strong  a  hold,  that  they  will 
grow  in  spite  of  everything.  Many  grown-up  children 
are  very  negligent  in  this  matter,  and  I  suppose  it  is 
partly  because  they  do  not  know  that  whatever  they 
put  into  the  mind  will  grow;  and  partly  because  it 
seems  so  hard  to  realize  that  little  things  may  grow 
to  be  so  very  large. 

If  you  did  not  know  any  thing  about  it,  for  exam- 
ple, how  hard  it  would  be  for  you  to  believe  that  a 
tall  oak,  almost  as  high  as  the  church-steeple,  would 
come  from  a  little  acorn,  dozens  of  which  you  can 
cram  into  your  pocket.  So  a  boy  will  read  or  listen 
to  an  evil  story,  only  thinking  that  he  is  amused  by 
it,  and  forgetting  that  the  memory  of  it  is  an  evil 
seed  in  his  soul, —  or  if  he  does  remember  what  it  is, 
he  will  often  think  it  too  small  to  be  of  consequence. 
Now  you  children  know  as  well  as  I  can  tell  you, 
that  "  Whatsoever  a  man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also 
reap."  But  there  are  these  two  mistakes  which 
children   are  apt   to  make,  that  of  forgetting  some- 


GOOD  AND    BAD   SEED.  jy 

times,  in  their  fun  or  excitement,  how  all  the  time 
little  seeds  of  good  and  evil  are  dropping  into  their 
souls;  and  that  of  forgetting  how  some  of  the  small- 
est of  these  seeds  may  grow  into  the  largest  plants. 

I  should  like  to  make  you  feel  some  of  the  conse- 
quences of  these  mistakes,  and  so  help  you  to  guard 
against  them.  A  troop  of  children,  who  lived,  I 
suppose,  where  spring  comes  a  little  earlier  than  it 
does  to  us  —  over  in  England,  perhaps  —  once  went 
a-Maying  together.  They  had  crowned  their  Queen 
with  flowers,  and  gathered  all  the  blossoms  they  could 
carry,  long  before  the  sun  was  half  way  down  the 
Western  sky.  They  had  been  playing  up  and  down 
a  long  hillside,  the  top  of  which  was  crowned  with  a 
heavy  wood.  At  length  some  one  proposed  that 
they  should  explore  this  wood.  Away  they  went 
hand  in  hand,  and  their  merry  laughter' was  soon 
echoing  among  the  trees. 

Soon  after  entering  the  wood,  the  children  per- 
ceived that  it  was  only  a  narrow  belt,  beyond  which 
were  open  fields  again.  But  judge  of  their  astonish- 
ment upon  emerging  from  the  other  side,  to  find 
themselves  in  a  large  and  beautiful  garden.  Such 
brilliant  flowers  they  had  never  seen ;  such  delicious 
perfumes  they  had  never  breathed  before.  There 
was  the  heliotrope  clambering  over  the  tops  of  tall 
trees  from  which  the  flowers  hung  in  mammoth 
clusters   like    grapes.     Mignonette 


7 8  SUNDAY  STOJRIES. 

hio'h  as  Indian-corn,  and  roses  and  camellias  as  laro-e 
as  dinner-plates  were  gently  nodding  with  the  breeze. 

"  This  is  fairy  land,"  cried  the  children,  as  the 
scene  burst  upon  them.  But  they  did  not  stand  long 
gazing.  With  childlike  curiosity  they  plunged  into 
the  nearest  walk,  and  found  it  lined  with  so  many 
new  and  wonderful  flowers,  that  they  could  only 
wander  on  in  speechless  admiration. 

Presently  they  turned  an  angle  in  the  avenue,  and 
there  before  them,  bending  over  a  bed  of  earth 
freshly  turned,  was  a  queer  little  old  lady,  not  half  so 
large  as  the  smallest  of  them.  She  did  not  seem  in 
the  least  surprised  to  see  them,  but  turning  her  head 
over  her  shoulder,  gave  them  a  j^leasant  little  nod, 
and  kept  on  poking  holes  in  the  earth  with  her 
fingers,  and  dropping  in  seeds. 

The  children  clustered  about  her,  and  one  little 
fellow  rather  less  bashful  than  the  rest,  said,  ''  I 
thought  fairies  could  make  things  grow  right  up." 
**  So  they  can,"  replied  the  fairy,  "but  they  prefer  to 
have  them  grow  slowly,  so  that  they  can  have  the 
pleasure  of  watching  them  day  by  day."  "  I  should 
like  to  see  a  tree  grow  up  in  a  minute,  right  here  by 
me,"  said  the  boy. 

Without  a  word,  the  fairy  took  a  seed  from  a  little 
box  which  hung  at  her  girdle,  and  muttering  some- 
thing which  the  children  did  not  hear,  threw  it  upon 
the  earth  in  front  of  the  boy,  and  ground  it  in  with 


GOOD  AND   BAD   SEED.  yg 

her  heel.  Instantly  up  came  a  green  shoot,  and  as 
quickly  as  you  could  raise  your  umbrella,  there  stood 
a  tree  before  them.  But  the  boy  was  so  anxious  to 
see  it  all,  and  stood  so  close  to  the  spot  where  the 
tree  came  up,  that  one  of  the  branches  as  it  sh  out 
from  the  trunk  like  a  spear,  was  thrust  right  through 
his  jacket,  and  before  he  had  time  to  draw  back, 
lifted  him  off  his  feet. 

So  when  the  children  looked  up  among  the  boughs 
of  the  magic-tree,  there  hung  their  companion,  dang- 
ling by  his  coat-skirts  like  an  over-ripe  apple  just 
ready  to  drop.  The  fairy  laughed  heartily  arid 
tapped  the  tree  with  her  cane,  when  it  withered 
away  and  sank  into  the  ground,  as  quickly  as  it  had 
risen.  "There  isn't  much  fun  in  that,"  said  she, 
"  here  is  something  much  more  interesting,"  and  she 
directed  their  attention  to  a  large  flower-bed,  through 
which  a  multitude  of  small  green  heads  were  slowly 
pushing.  "  What  are  all  these  "^  "  asked  they.  "  Oh, 
a  variety  of  things,"  replied  she,  "just  as  different  as 
the  things  sprouting  in  your  heads." 

What  did  the  fairy  mean  "^  The  children  stared  at 
each  other,  and  took  off  their  hats,  and  then  declared 
that  they  saw  nothing  but  hair  sprouting  from  their 
heads.  So  the  fairy  explained  to  them  of  course 
that  very  many  thoughts  and  desires,  she  hoped  only 
good  ones,  were  taking  root  in  their  minds,  and  grow- 
ing up  like  plants. 


S  UN  DA  Y   S  TO  RIES. 


While  she  was  talking,  she  heard  a  little  rustling  of 
paper,  and  looking  behind  her  discovered  this  same 
boy,  who  had  first  addressed  her,  nothing  daunted  by 
his  voyage  in  the  air,  investigating  her  box  of  seeds. 
He  had  been  tasting  of  one  and  another,  and  had 
evidently  found  at  length  something  good,  for  as  the 
fairy  looked  about  he  was  just  swallowing  one  huge 
mouthful,  and  before  she  could  get  at  him  his  cheeks 
were  distended  with  another  handful.  "  What  are 
you  doing,"  cried  she.  "  Spit  it  out  instantly,  it  is  seed 
which  will  make  you  grow  into  a  thistle." 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  mischief  was  done;  while 
the  children  looked  at  him,  his  hair  all  rose  up 
straight  and  turned  a  reddish  purple.  His  jacket 
collar  turned  up  and  grew  over  his  face  and  ears  like 
a  great  green  muffler,  making  his  head  an  enormous 
thistle  bud.  From  his  arms,  his  legs  and  his  body 
started  forth  long  slender  leaves  covered  with  a  mul- 
titude of  sharp  needle  points.  He  could  no  longer 
walk.  He  could  only  plant  his  legs  as  far  apart  as 
possible  and  hold  his  arms  out  straight  in  the  air  to 
avoid  striking  the  points  into  his  body.  But  he  could 
not  keep  perfectly  still,  and  beside,  the  wind  would 
blow  the  leaves  against  him,  so  that  a  succession  of 
muffled  squeals  came  from  the  mouth  hidden  in  the 
bud  ;  and  now  and  then  words  which,  as  near  as  they 
could  make  out,  seemed  to  be  an  earnest  appeal  to 
some  one  to  take  a  knife  and  trim  his  legs. 


GOOD  AND    BAD   SEED.  8i 

But  the  fairy  thought  this  a  good  opportunity  to 
teach  the  children  a  lesson.  So  she  said,  "  That 
is  the  way  with  a  great  many  of  you  mortals.  You 
only  think  of  the  taste  of  things.  Your  souls  and 
your  bodies  require  food,  but  so  you  find  something 
which  tickles  your  palate  or  affords  you  amusement, 
that  is  all  you  care  for.  You  have  often  to  learn  like 
this  boy  by  bitter  experience  that  what  tastes  good 
for  the  time  being,  may  be  the  seed  of  something 
which  will  make  you  very  uncomfortable.  Why  can 
you  not  always  remember  to  see  what  kind  of  seed 
you  are  eating,  as  well  as  what  is  pleasant  to  the 
taste." 

Much  more  she  wanted  to  say,  and  doubtless  would 
have  said,  but  the  boy-thistle  was  rapidly  going  to 
seed.  His  hair  had  turned  white  and  the  wind  was 
carrying  it  away.  She  feared  not  only  the  damage 
that  mio'ht  be  done  to  her  sfarden,  if  she  allowed  such 
seed  to  be  scattered,  but  also  that  the  boy  would  be 
left  entirely  bald  if  she  did  not  hasten  to  change  him 
back  to  his  proper  form.  So  she  tapped  him  with 
her  cane,  and  in  an  instant  he  was  a  boy  again,  with 
the  stain  of  the  thistle  seed  still  about  his  mouth, 
and  a  very  sheepish  look  on  his  face. 

The  children  all  set  up  a  great  laugh  at  him  for  his 
greediness,  and  the  poor  little  fellow's  temper  had 
been  already  so  sorely  tried  by  his  fright  and  the 
stings  of  the  thistle  points,  that  he  could  not  take 


SUNDAY  STORIES. 


the  jeers  of  his  companions  with  a  very  good  grace. 
His  Hps  were  beginning  to  quiver  and  his  eyes  to  fill 
with  tears,  when  the  fairy  came  to  his  relief.  *'  Since 
you  all  laugh  at  him,"  she  said,  "  doubtless  you  are 
all  very  much  wiser  than  he.  Come  then,  here  is  my 
box!  Let  us  see  what  choice  of  my  seeds  you  will 
make." 

Of  course  no  one  was  in  a  hurry  to  accept  the 
challenge.  But  the  fairy  encouraged  them  by  telling 
them  that  it  would  do  them  no  harm,  for  she  would 
change  them  all  back  again,  and  they  might  learn  a 
useful  lesson  from  it.  So  one  of  the  larger  boys 
came  forward,  and  said  he  would  try  how  wise  a 
choice  he  could  make.  **  Now,"  said  he,  "I  would 
like  to  know  how  it  seems  to  be  very  large,  a  hun- 
dred feet  high  ;  so  I  shall  look  for  the  seed  of  a  tall 
tree."  All  was  silence,  while  he  turned  over  the 
various  packages,  marked  with  letters  that  he  did  not 
understand,  and  felt  of  them  or  peeped  in  to  see  what 
they  contained.  At  length  he  turned  up  something 
about  the  size  of  his  two  fists.  "  That  is  a  lar2:e 
seed,  said  he,  "  something  huge  must  come  from  it." 
The  fairy,  of  course,  did  not  say  a  word,  so  after 
smelling  it,  and  biting  out  a  trifle  to  find  that  it  had 
no  particular  taste,  he  proceeded  to  eat  it  up. 

Very  soon  he  began  to  change,  but  instead  of 
growing  tall  he  became  shorter.  He  shrivelled 
away,  till  his  legs  were  no  thicker  than  one's  thumb, 


GOOD  AND   BAD   SEED. 


83 


and  he  was  not  half  his  usual  height.  From  all  over 
his  body  sprouted  green  leaves  till  he  was  completely 
enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  foliage.  But  the  most  sur- 
prising change  was  to  be  noticed  in  his  feet.  They 
took  firm  root  so  that  he  could  not  lift  them.  His 
toes  began  to  swell,  and  bursting  through  his  shoes 
grew  and  burrowed  into  the  ground,  like  so  many 
enormous  sweet  potatoes. 

In  fact,  that  is  just  what  he  became  in  a  few 
moments  ;  a  very  good  sized  potato  bush.  Nothing 
more.  It  was  so  funny  a  sight,  especially  as  the 
children  remembered  how  he  had  wanted  to  grow 
into  something  very  great  and  grand,  that  they  burst 
into  shouts  of  laughter. 

"  There's  another  mistake  which  you  mortals  are 
always  making,"  said  the  fairy.  "You  think  large 
things  must  grow  from  large  seed.  Little  opportuni- 
ties, little  habits  of  thought  you  overlook  because  you 
want  to  be  something  great,  and  you  stuff  yourselves 
with  some  great  potato,  under  the  delusion  that  it 
will  produce  a  great  tree.  Here  now,"  said  she, 
taking  a  tiny  black  speck  in  her  hand,  "  is  the  seed 
of  the  largest  tree  in  all  my  garden." 

So  the  boy  was  brought  back  to  his  own  shape,  and 
as  he  was  very  good-natured  over  his  mistake,  and 
laughed  as  heartily  as  any  about  his  toes  growing  into 
potatoes,  all  the  rest  were  quite  ready  to  try  the 
experiment.     One  who  wished  to  become  some  kind 


$4  SUNDAY   STOEIES. 


of  beautiful  flower,  chose  what  proved  to  be  cucum- 
ber seed,  and  falling  down  upon  his  face,  every  bone 
in  his  body  began  to  stretch  out  long  and  thin  like 
warm  molasses  candy.  His  fingers  tapered  off  into 
small  green  threads  and  curled  up  like  little  spiral 
springs.  His  neck  spun  out  and  out  till  the  children 
wondered  how  it  could  hold  together,  and  all  the 
flowers  he  bore  were  made  by  his  ears  which 
expanded  into  two  broad  yellow  blossoms. 

But  not  to  spin  my  story  out  to  the  same  extent, 
they  all  made  their  choice  of  seeds  in  turn.  Some 
succeeded  in  becoming  what  they  wanted  to  be  and 
others  failed.  But  all  of  them  learned  that  it  was 
wiser  to  know  beforehand  what  kind  of  seed  they 
were  taking,  than  to  depend  upon  its  taste  or  appear- 
ance. 

When  they  went  home  and  told  their  parents  all 
these  wonderful  things,  their  parents  told  them  they 
had  fallen  asleep  and  dreamed  them.  Perhaps  they 
had,  for  it  is  certain  that  they  were  never  able  after- 
wards to  find  the  place  in  which  they  had  seen  the 
fairy.  But  whether  it  was  a  dream  or  a  real  experi- 
ence, the  children  never  forgot  its  lesson.  When 
they  found  themselves  doing  something  which  didn't 
seem  exactly  right,  though  it  was  fun,  they  stopped 
and  thought,  *'  I  wonder  if  I  am  not  eating  thistle- 
seed."  When  they  were  tempted  to  make  light  of 
little  matters  of   speech   or  deportment,  or   thought 


GOOD  AND   BAD   SEED. 


8S 


they  would  some  day  find  a  great  opportunity  to  be 
good,  so  that  it  didn't  matter  about  the  little  chances; 
they  said  to  themselves,  '*  Now  I  am  looking  for  a 
potato,  and  if  I  am  ever  to  be  great  and  good,  very 
likely  some  little  thing  is  the  seed." 

That  is  precisely  what  I  want  to  teach  you.  First 
that  you  must  think  not  only  of  what  is  pleasant  to 
your  taste,  but  what  will  bear  fruit  in  your  lives  in 
after  years ;  and  next  that  the  noblest  characters 
often  grow  from  the  very  smallest  seeds.  You  could 
not  all  of  you  tell  cucumber  from  flower  seeds,  I  dare 
say.  Neither  can  you  always  tell  what  will  make 
your  after-lives  beautiful  or  ugly.  You  should  be 
willing  to  depend  upon  the  knowledge  of  older  peo- 
ple, who  have  found  out  by  their  own  experience 
what  it  is  good  for  you  to  plant  in  your  minds. 

Perhaps  some  of  you  wonder  why  you  should  go  to 
Sunday-school ;  you  do  not  see  much  use  in  it  some- 
times. It  is  because  there  your  teachers  are  trying 
to  drop  into  your  souls  some  little  seeds  of  goodness 
and  truth,  which  will  slowly  grow  and  grow,  until 
they  fill  your  whole  lives  in  years  to  come.  It  is 
because  they  hope  thus  to  make  your  lives  happier ; 
to  keep  out  of  them  many  thorns  and  thistles,  and  to 
help  them  not  only  to  blossom  into  beauty,  but  to 
bear  fruit  which  shall  be  gathered  in  heaven,  long 
after  your  lives  on  earth  have  closed. 


VII. 
THE    HEAVENLY   VISION. 

I  was  not  disobedient  to  the  heavenly  vision. — Acts,  xxvi.,  19. 

'T^HIS  verse  of  Scripture  has  always  been  very 
dear  to  me,  and  I  have  selected  it  as  an  intro- 
duction to  something  I  want  to  say  to  you,  hoping 
that  it  may  help  some  of  you,  as  it  has  helped  me. 

It  is  a  saying  of  the  Apostle  Paul's,  and  this  is 
how  it  came  to  be  spoken  :  Paul  had  been  accused 
by  the  Jews  of  doing  many  things  contrary  to  the 
law,  and  was  making  his  defense  before  the  King. 
He  told  him  that  at  first,  after  Jesus'  death,  he  had 
persecuted  the  Christians.  That  is,  he  had  them 
whipped  and  imprisoned  and  stoned,  believing  that 
he  did  God  service  in  putting  them  out  of  the  world. 

But  one  day,  going  to  Damascus,  Jesus  suddenly 
appeared  to  him  in  a  vision,  and  not  only  com- 
manded him  to  leave  off  his  persecutions  of  the 
Christians,  but  to  go  out  among  the  surrounding 
nations  and  preach  his  Gospel.  "And,"  says  Paul, 
"  I  was  not  disobedient  to  the  heavenly  vision." 

You  do  not  need  to  be  told  that  in  all  human  prob- 
ability we  should  have  known  nothing  about  Christ 
to-day,  had  it   not  been  for   Paul.      He  it  was  who 


TDE  HEAVENLY   VISION.  87 

planted  the  churches  outside  of  Judea,  which  Uved 
after  Jerusalem  had  been  destroyed  and  the  Jews 
scattered,  and   he  did  this  because  of  a  vision. 

If  Paul  had  been  disobedient,  of  course  we  do  not 
know  all  the  difference  it  would  have  made.  But  we 
do  know  that  instead  of  being  the  greatest  and  most 
famous  man,  save  one,  in  all  our  history,  he  would 
have  been  forgotten,  along  with  many  other  Jewish 
teachers  of  his  day.  This  vision  was  not  merely  im- 
portant to  the  world  and  the  cause  of  religion  ;  it 
was  a  great  event  to  Paul  himself,  for  it  w^as  the  turn- 
ing point  in  his  whole  life. 

Travellers  have  found  in  the  far  West,  upon  the 
mountains  beyond  the  great  Plains,  a  little  spring 
just  upon  the  ridge  of  what  is  called  the  water- 
shed, between  two  great  valleys.  It  is  so  situated 
that  any  one  with  a  spade  could  alter  the  channel  in 
a  few  minutes,  and  make  it  run  down  either  slope  at 
pleasure.  Suppose  you  were  to  stand  beside  that 
spring,  and  find  its  waters  running  toward  the  west. 
You  would  know  that  they  would  at  length  find  their 
way  through  mountain  torrents  and  deep  ravines 
into  the  river  Colorado,  and  thence  into  the  Pacific 
Ocean. 

But  suppose  you  were  to  dig  for  it  a  new  channel 
for  a  few  steps,  and  set  its  current  towards  the  East ; 
how  entirely  you  would  change  its  destiny,  for  then 
it  would  mingle  its  waters  with  the   noble   streams 


88  SUNBAY  STORIES. 

which  cross  the  wide  prairies,  until  it  met  the  great 
Father  of  Rivers  —  the  Mississippi  himself  —  and  by 
him  would  be  carried  out  into  the  broad  Atlantic. 

Now,  just  as  there  is  a  point  in  that  little  stream, 
when  it  can  be  turned  in  one  direction  or  the  other 
and  sent  toward  either  of  two  oceans  which  are  thou- 
sands of  miles  apart,  so,  when  Paul  saw  this  vision, 
it  was  the  turning  point  in  his  life.  Afterwards  he 
lived  in  a  different  way,  among  different  people,  and 
all  he  did  was  in  exactly  the  opposite  direction  to 
what  he  had  done  before. 

Now,  I  would  like  you  children  to  consider  two 
things.  The  first  is,  that  in  every  life,  and  espe- 
cially in  every  young  life,  there  are  just  such  turning 
points. 

To  be  sure,  they  are  not  often  so  all-important  as 
they  were  in  this  case  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  there 
are  more  of  them.  There  are  man^  times  when  what 
you  do  turns  the  direction  of  your  lives  in  some  de- 
gree, toward  the  good  or  the  bad  ;  but  never  after- 
wards will  anything  be  likely  to  make  so  great  a 
change  as  now  in  your  youth.  You  can  see  readily 
enough  that  when  the  slender  rivulet  had  grown  to 
be  a  great  river,  it  would  be  a  giant  work  to  make  for 
it  a  new  channel. 

At  the  beginning  is  always  the  time  to  decide  the 
direction.  Says  the  old  proverb,  *'As  the  twig  is 
bent,  so  is  the  tree  inclined." 


THE  HEAVENLY   VISION. 


The  second  thought  I  ask  you  to  consider  is  that  a 
vision  may  decide  your  destiny,  as  really  as  it  did 
that  of  Saint  Paul.  "  A  vision  !  "  I  think  some  of 
you  will  exclaim,  ''How  is  that?"  We  see  no  vis- 
ions, except  when  we  sleep,  and  then  we  call  them 
dreams.  Surely,  you  do  not  mean  that  what  we 
dream  is  of  much  importance .'' "  But  I  do  mean  to 
say  that  dreams  of  one  kind  and  another  have  a  great 
influence  over  your  lives.  Not  alone  the  dreams  that 
come  to  you  in  your  sleep,  though  I  may  have  some- 
thing to  say  about  them  ;  but  I  mean,  in  a  general 
way,  the  visions  in  which  your  mind  sees  things  not 
seen  by  your  bodily  eye.  Do  you  never  have  day- 
dreams .''  I  know  you  do,  all  of  you,  for  I  have  seen 
young  children  stand  long  moments  with  deep,  won- 
dering eyes,  seeing  and  hearing  nothing  going  on 
about  them,  but  looking  away  and  away,  they  only 
knew  where  or  what  they  saw. 

Let  me  tell  you  what  you  sometimes  see  in  such 
visions.  You  look  through  years  of  the  future,  and 
see  yourselves  grown  to  manhood  and  womanhood. 
You  are  surrounded  by  loving  friends,  whom  it  is 
your  delight  to  make  happy.  You  have  grown  noble 
and  powerful,  so  that  your  praises  are  upon  many 
lips,  and  many  hearts  are  thanking  you  for  the  help 
you  have  given.  You  are  helping  the  world  to  put 
away  all  that  is  hateful  and  sinful  and  unlovely. 
You    have    surrounded    yourselves    with    things    of 

12 


go  SUNBAY   S TOBIES. 

beauty  in  beautiful  homes,  and  all  your  lives  are 
passed  in  an  atmosphere  of  love  and  happiness. 

This  is  a  heavenly  vision  which  comes  to  all  chil- 
dren, and  it  is  a  great  thing  if  you  are  never  disobe- 
dient ;  for  you  soon  discover  that  it  is  not  easy  to  be 
so  good  as  you  have  dreamed  of  being.  When  you 
try  to  help  people  they  will  sometimes  give  you 
curses  instead  of  blessings.  And,  just  as  Paul  was 
obliged  to  suffer  from  the  false  and  evil  accusations 
of  his  enemies,  so  there  are  many  things  that  you 
will  have  to  suffer  if  you  are  obedient  to  your  vision. 

Many  a  man  and  many  a  woman  will  try  for  a  little 
while,  and  then  give  up.  They  come  to  think  that 
their  childish  dream  of  being  so  good  and  useful  was 
all  folly,  and  afterward  they  only  selfishly  take  care 
of  themselves,  not  caring  how  their  neighbor  fares, 
and  are  only  just  so  good  as  it  is  convenient  to  be. 
But,  let  me  tell  you,  that  will  be  a  sorry  day  on  which 
you  shall  thus  disobey  the  heavenly  vision.  When 
your  childish  faith  and  hopefulness  go  out  of  your 
lives,  that  moment  all  the  joy  which  marks  your 
childhood's  years  dies  out  of  your  hearts.  Whatever 
it  costs  of  labor  and  sacrifice,  you  ought  always  to 
follow  this  dream  of  something  happier  and  better 
than  you  have  yet  known. 

This  is  the  way  in  which  the  text  has  helped  me. 
When  it  has  seemed  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to 
try  any  longer  to  be  what  I  should  like  to  be,  these 


THE  HEAVENLY   VISION.  91 

words  have  come  to  me,  ''  I  was  not  disobedient  to 
the  heavenly  vision  ;  "  and  the  thought  of  what  Paul 
endured  for  the  sake  of  his  vision,  has  made  me 
ashamed  that  I  so  soon  thought  of  deserting  mine. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  sometimes  when  you  fall  into 
a  reverie  or  day-dream,  and  see  so  many  things  in 
the  far  future,  if  some  one  were  to  ask  you  what  you 
were  doing,  you  would  reply,  ''Only  thinking."  But 
if  you  once  realize  that  the  voice  which  speaks  to 
you  in  such  visions  is  the  voice  of  God  calling  you 
to  a  better  life,  you  will  no  longer  say  only  thinking, 
and  will  know  that  such  kind  of  thought  makes  a 
new  channel  for  your  lives,  leading  more  directly  to 
the  Kingdom  of  God. 

You  know  that  the  ancients  gave  great  importance 
to  the  dreams  which  came  to  them  in  sleep.  The 
Old  Testament  contains  many  wonderful  stories  of 
people  who  were  warned  in  dreams  of  the  future, 
and  how  to  meet  it.  There  was  Pharaoh's  dream, 
which  Joseph  interpreted,  foretelling  the  famine 
which  afterward  caiiie. 

There  was  the  strange  dream  of  King  Nebuchad- 
nezzar, which  he  could  not  remember,  and  was  after- 
ward revealed  to  Daniel  in  a  dream,  together  with 
its  interpretation.  And  there  are  scores  of  others, 
equally  wonderful  and  curious. 

Many  times  a  dream  will  make  an  impression  that 
you  will  carry  for  days   and   days.     Indeed,  I  know 


92 


SUNDAY   S TOBIES. 


that  I  have  had  dreams  which  I  shall  never  forget, 
however  long  I  may  live. 

There  is  one  remarkable  thing  abont  a  dream, 
which  sometimes  makes  it  of  great  importance. 
When  we  actually  do  wrong  to  another,  straight- 
way we  begin  to  try  to  make  it  appear  to  ourselves 
that  we  hadn't  done  wrong  at  all. 

Suppose  one  of  you  children  gets  provoked  and 
strikes  a  playmate.  What  do  you  say.?  Why,  you 
say:  "I  don't  care  —  she  needn't  have  taken  my 
doll;"  or,  "If  he  didn't  want  to  get  hurt,  what  did 
he  break  my  hoop  for.?"  And  not  alone  you,  little 
ones,  but  also  many  older  people,  as  ■  soon  as  their 
conscience  begins  to  accuse  them,  seek  to  put  all  the 
blame  upon  some  one  else.  Now,  in  a  dream  you  do 
not  do  this  so  much,  and  I  believe  not  at  all ;  when 
you  dream  of  doing  wrong  you  are  always  very  sorry 
for  it,  and  so,  sometimes  in  your  sleep,  you  see  what 
is  right  and  what  is  wrong  more  clearly  than  you  do 
in  your  waking  moments. 

Let  me  tell  you  a  short  story  to  show  you  what  I 
mean.  There  was  once  a  little  girl  who  was  not  by 
any  means  generally  naughty,  but  who  had  peevish 
moods,  when  it  seemed  to  her  that  everybody  and 
everything  tried  to  torment  her.  If  she  wanted  very 
much  to  do  something,  her  mamma  was' sure  to  say 
that  she  must  not  ;  and  all  her  toys  would  lose  or 
break  themselves,  or  behave  in  some  terribly  aggra- 


THE  HEAVENLY   VISION.  g. 

vating  way.  Of  course,  the  fact  was,  she  herself 
was  hateful,  and  so  she  thought  all  the  world  must 
be  so. 

Well,  in  one  of  these  moods,  she  decided  that  she 
would  go  out  for  a  walk  ;  and,  sure  enough,  mamma 
said  she  must  stay  in  the  house.  It  was  a  damp, 
unwholesome  day,  when  she  would  run  a  great  risk 
of  making  herself  sick,  and  this  her  mother  tried  to 
tell  her.  But  she  knew  it  was  only  that  her  mother 
took  delight  in  making  her  cry,  and  so  she  said  some 
very  saucy  and  hasty  words,  and  threw  herself  upon 
the  sofa,  to  have  a  real,  good,  satisfactory  cry. 

She  sobbed  and  sobbed,  waiting  for  mamma  to 
come  and  make  it  up ;  but  mamma,  with  a  very 
grave  face,  kept  steadily  on  with  her  sewing. 

So  the  little  girl  grew  angrier,  and  cried  harder 
than  ever,  till  at  length  she  cried  herself  to  sleep. 
At  first  she  seemed  to  be  in  a  great  dark  wood, 
and  the  wind  roaring  through  the  branches  over- 
head, filled  her  with  dread.  She  was  all  alone,  and 
searched  in  vain  for  some  path  to  lead  her  into  the 
light.  So,  crying  out  for  help,  she  went  stumbling 
up  and  down  for  days  and  days  together,  until  finally 
a  great  root  tripped  her  and  she  fell. 

She  was  not  hurt,  but  angry,  and  as  soon  as  she 
had  risen,  picked  up  a  long  stick  and  beat  the  tree  as 
long  as  she  was  able.  Suddenly  all  the  wood  van- 
ished, and  as  she  looked  up  she  saw  that  instead  of 


94 


SUNDAY    STORIES. 


the  tree,  she  was  beating  her  mother,  who  looked 
down  upon  her  with  sad,  reproachful  eyes.  Instantly 
she  sank  at  her  mother's  feet  to  implore  forgiveness, 
when  once  more  she  was  alone  —  alone  in  the  midst 
of  a  great  plain.  As  far  as  eye  could  reach  not  a 
living  thing  could  be  seen  ;  not  a  single  bird  was  in 
the  heavens,  not  a  blade  of  grass  above  the  ground. 
No  breath  of  air  was  stirring,  and  all  was  dead 
silence,  save  a  faint  moan,  which  seemed  to  rise  out 
of  the  earth,  ever  and  ever  so  far  away. 

Slowly  and  sadly  she  wandered  on  in  the  direction 
whence  this  sound  proceeded,  until  all  at  once  she 
found  herself  on  the  brink  of  a  rapid  river,  whose 
inky  waters  leaped  and  roared  far  beneath  her. 

"What  river  is  this.^"  asked  the  child,  with  a 
vague  notion  that  she  had  never  heard  of  it  in  her 
geography.  The  words  were  no  sooner  out  of  her 
mouth  than  a  great  shriek  rang  out,  and  "  Remorse, 
Remorse,  Remorse!"  went  echoing  away  back  into 
the  ravine  from  which  the  river  came. 

And  now  wherever  she  looked  she  could  only  see 
her  mother's  sad,  reproachful  eyes.  They  looked 
dow^n  upon  her  from  the  clouds,  which  were  growing 
heavier ;  they  were  being  carried  quickly  past  by 
every  wave  below.  Wherever  she  turned  her  gaze, 
those  eyes,  full  of  grief,  looked  back  at  her. 

"  Oh  !  what  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do  ? "  she 
cried,  and  then  the  earth   began  sinking  under  her 


THE  HEAVENLY   VISION.  95 

feet.  Down,  clown,  down,  she  fell.  It  seemed  to  be 
a  great  slide  of  the  bank,  off  into  the  black  waters, 
and  scrambling-  for  a  foothold  amongst  the  rolling 
stones,  bruised  and  bleeding  and  crying  for  help, 
down  she  went,  the  sad  eyes  still  following  her. 

She  heard  the  splash  of  the  water  as  the  great 
rocks  before  her  leaped  in  ;  but,  just  as  she  herself 
was  sinking  into  their  chill  embrace,  there  stood 
mamma  upon  the  brink  with  arms  stretched  out  to 
save  her. 

With  a  cry  of  mingled  joy  and  terror,  the  child 
sprang  forward,  and  found  herself  close  clasped  in 
her  mother's  arms.  ''  What  has  my  darling  been 
dreaming  that  she  cries  out  so  in  her  sleep  }  "  said  a 
soft,  soothing  voice.  But  for  a  long  time  she  could 
only  soh  out  a  prayer  for  forgiveness  for  the  ugly 
words  she  had  spoken  before  she  went  to  sleep. 

She  had  had  her  vision,  and  she  never  forgot  it. 
The  memory  of  those  eyes  she  had  seen  in  her 
dream  never  left  her,  and  whenever  she  afterward 
felt  tempted  to  say  anything  wrong,  the  vision  all 
came  back  to  her,  and  her  anger  was  melted  in  an 
instant. 

I  cannot  pretend  that  through  all  my  boyhood 
years  I  was  as  truthful  as  George  Washington  is 
said  to  have  been,  for,  although  I  have  no  very 
distinct  remembrance  about  it,  I  dare  say  that  I 
might  have  told  a  few  moderate  falsehoods.     But  of 


96  SUNDAY   S TOBIES. 

this  I  am  sure,  that  I  should  have  told  a  great  many 
more  except  for  a  dream  I  once  had.  I  dreamed  of 
throwing  my  ball  through  a  large  glass  window,  and 
that,  when  the  owner  of  the  house  came  out  and 
asked  me  if  I  did  it,  I  said  ''No."  Then  I  thought 
he  pounced  upon  a  playmate,  of  whom  I  was  very 
fond,  saying,  ''  It  must  be  you,  then,"  and  dragging 
him  in,  gave  him  a  sound  whipping. 

No  words  can  express  how  mean  and  degraded  I 
felt,  in  my  dream,  as  I  heard  that  boy's  cries.  Had 
I  been  awake  I  should  likely  enough  have  said, 
**  Well,  he  need  not  have  been  standing  around 
there,  if  he  didn't  want  to  be  whipped."  But  not 
so  in  my  sleep.  I  felt  as  if  I  was  the  meanest,  most 
cowardly  wretch  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  I  had 
not  a  single  word  to  say  in  my  own  defense.  I  never 
should  be  able  to  make  you  understand  how  I  loathed 
and  abhorred  myself  —  how  ashamed  I  was  of  my 
own  presence  —  unless  you  have  had  such  a  dream 
yourselves. 

After  I  awoke  it  was  a  long  while  before  I  could 
shake  off  the  impression  that  I  had  actually  done 
something  terribly  mean.  The  dream  gave  me  such 
an  instinctive  hatred  and  horror  of  all  lies,  as  I  do 
not  believe  I  could  have  been  made  to  feel  in  any 
other  way. 

But  I  do  not  want  you  to  think  that  these  are  the 
only    heavenly    visions    to    which    you    ought    to    be 


THE  UEAVEXLY   VISION.  gj 

obedient.  The  vision  is  something  that  tells  you 
what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong,  and  oftentimes  only 
speaks  very  clearly  in  a  dream,  because  then  you  do 
not  seem  to  care  to  defend  yourself  against  your 
conscience.  If  some  one  had  tried  to  convince  Paul 
that  he  ought  not  to  persecute  the  Christians,  he 
would  have  found  plenty  of  reasons  why  he  should. 
But  when  Jesus  appeared  to  him  in  the  vision,  and 
said,  "  Saul !  Saul !  why  persecutest  thou  me.''  "  Paul 
had  not  a  word  to  say.  But,  wherever  you  may  be, 
and  however  occupied,  when  it  flashes  upon  you 
what  you  ought  to  do,  that  is  your  heavenly  vision ; 
and  better  that  you  had  never  been  born  than  that 
you  should  not  obey  it. 

I  remember  to  have  read  or  heard  or  imagined  the 
story  of  a  boy  who  once  tried  to  whip  a  favorite  dog. 
He  had  struck  him  many  times  before  in  a  passion, 
and  never  thought  it  any  worse  than  to  strike  a  rock. 
But  this  time  something  in  the  dog's  cry,  or  in  the 
piteous  look  of  his  eye,  made  him  feel  how  cruel  he 
was.  So  suddenly  it  came  upon  him  that  it  caught 
him  with  his  hand  raised,  in  the  act  of  striking.  It 
seemed  to  be  a  power  holding  him  back — as  of  old, 
the  angels  caught  Abraham's  hand  when  he  was 
about  to  kill  his  son.  Indeed,  I  think  that  is  pre- 
cisely what  the  old  story  about  Abraham  and  Isaac 
means. 

He  was  just  ready  to  slay  Isaac,  according  to  an 


SUNDAY   STORIES. 


old  heathen  custom,  that  he  might  offer  up  his  body- 
as  a  burnt  offering.  But  even  as  he  had  the  knife 
poised  in  air,  suddenly  he  saw  what  a  hideous  act  it 
was  ;  and  his  arm  was  stayed,  as  by  an  angel  from 
heaven. 

Such  heavenly  visions  come  to  us  all,  when  a  great 
light  bursts  upon  us,  and  our  duty  is  made  plain. 
You  have  all,  perhaps,  on  some  summer  evening, 
watched  the  coming  up  of  a  thunder  storm.  You 
will  see  only  a  great  indistinct  mass  of  heavy  clouds 
rolling  up  the  sky  and  casting  a  deep  shadow  over  all 
the  landscape.  Then  will  come  a  dazzling  flash  of 
lightning.  For  an  instant  everything  will  appear  in 
a  great  glare  of  light.  The  distant  hills,  the  trees 
and  houses  near  you,  will  be  as'  plainly  seen  as  at 
noonday,  and  into  the  surface  of  the  cloud  will  be 
stamped  a  long  zigzag  line  of  flame.  So,  where  all  is 
dark  and  uncertain,  there  sometimes  bursts  upon  us 
a  clear  picture  of  the  right.  And  it  will  be  the 
greatest  of  all  things  for  you  children,  if  in  after 
years  you  can  look  back  upon  such  an  experience, 
and  say,  like  Paul,  ''  I  was  not  disobedient  to  the 
heavenly  vision." 


VIII. 
MODESTY. 


Blessed  are  the  meek,  for  they  shall  inherit  the  earth. —  Matt.  v.  5. 

TT'AR  away  in  the  heart  of  a  great  wilderness  liv^ed 
a  lion,  who  was  acknowledged  to  be  king,  by 
all  the  beasts  in  that  part  of  the  world.  He  was 
very  large  and  strong,  and  of  course  if  he  could 
master  other  lions,  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from  such 
animals  as  wolves  and  bears. 

This  lion  had  a  kind  of  court,  as  kings  do,  that  is, 
he  gathered  about  him  the  strongest  and  the  swiftest 
of  the  other  animal  tribes,  and  made  them  hunt  for 
him,  or  to  act  as  scouts  to  bring  him  reports  where 
game  could  be  found.  On  condition  that  they  did 
this  service  for  him  well,  the  King  promised  not  to 
eat  them.  All  other  animals  in  his  dominions  he 
would  devour,  whenever  he  felt  hungry  and  could 
catch  them. 

Of  course  there  was  great  fear  of  him  among  all 
his  subjects,  and  a  great  desire  to  attach  themselves 
to  his  Court,  for  those  only  whom  the  King  would 
deign  to  employ,  were  safe  from  his  hungry  jaws. 
Even  these  had  always  to  dread  that  in  some 
outburst  of  anger  he  might  turn  upon  them,  and  so 
they  all  sought  to  please  him  by  flattery. 


loo  SUNDAY    STORIES. 

Partly  because  those  about  him  were  always  telling 
him  what  a  powerful  and  magnificent  animal  he  was, 
and  partly  because  he  was  naturally  rather  vain,  the 
lion  became  a  great  boaster,  and  thought  that  as  he 
never  had  been,  he  never  could  be  beaten  in  fight. 

One  day  the  Court  was  all  assembled  about  the 
King,  who,  having  just  finished  a  hearty  dinner,  was 
\'ery  good-natured  ;  though  now  and  then  he  could 
not  forbear  lashing  with  his  great  tail  the  little 
monkeys  who  acted  as  his  pages,  just  for  the  fun  of 
hearing  them  cry  with  pain.  Every  little  while  he 
would  walk  majestically  back  and  forth  before  his 
courtiers,  giving  one  of  his  loud  roars,  at  which  they 
all  fell  trembling  with  fright,  and  this  pleased  him 
very  much.  Still,  he  was,  for  him,  very  good- 
natured,  and  the  Court  was  enjoying  quite  a  comfort- 
able afternoon,  when  suddenly  there  was  a  loud 
trampling  and  crackling  among  the  bushes,  and 
while  all  were  looking  to  see  what  caused  it,  the 
great  head  of  an  elephant  was  pushed  through  the 
thicket. 

Its  astonished  owner  stopped  upon  finding  himself 
an  intruder,  and  would  have  retired,  only  he  was 
curious  to  know  what  the  scene  meant.  It  chanced 
that  this  was  the  first  elephant  that  had  ever  entered 
the  lion  king's  dominions  ;  so  neither  he  nor  his 
courtiers  knew  what  kind  of  animal  this  great  black 
head  and  long  swinging  nose  belonged  to. 


M  DDK  STY. 


All  the  smaller  animals  were  thrown  into  great 
terror  by  its  sudden  appearance,  and  crouched  trem- 
bling behind  their  King.  And  he,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  felt  his  knees  shake  a  little  —  with  anger  as 
he  afterwards  said  —  but  really  in  fear.  But  he  knew 
that  he  must  not  show  any  weakness,  so  he  put  on  a 
bold  face,  and  demanded  of  the  elephant  how  he  dared 
to  enter  his  presence  without  leave,  and  what  reason 
he  could  give  why  he  should  not  be  killed  and  eaten 
on  the  spot. 

At  this  all  the  animals  set  up  a  great  howl,  which 
was  meant  for  applause  of  their  King,  and  made  the 
elephant  open  his  eyes  to  their  widest  extent.  When 
he  had  a  little  recovered  from  his  astonishment,  he 
answered  courteously  enough,  that  he  came  from  a 
distant  part  of  the  country,  and  had  never  heard  of 
his  Majesty.  He  had  strayed  from  the  herd  to 
which  he  belonged,  and  was  wandering  about  aim- 
lessly, when  he  chanced  to  stumble  upon  their  place 
of  meeting.  Being  innocent  of  any  wrong  intent,  he 
hoped  the  King  would  do  him  no  harm,  but  permit 
him  to  withdraw. 

Finding  him  thus  peaceably  disposed,  all  the  ani- 
mals at  once  regained  their  courage,  and  began  to 
clamor  for  the  King  to  put  him  to  death  instantly. 
But  the  King  suspected  that  this  might  not  be  so 
easy,  and  feeling  some  curiosity  moreover  to  look  at 
the  elephant,  he  professed  himself  satisfied  with  the 


102  SUNDAY    S TOBIES. 

answer,  and  invited  liim  to  come  forward,  assuring 
him  at  the  same  time  in  a  very  patronizing  way,  that 
none  of  his  subjects  should  hurt  him.  So  the 
elephant  stepped  out  from  the  bushes,  and  again 
made  a  little  panic  of  fright  among  the  beasts,  as  his 
tremendous  size  was  disclosed  to  view. 

However,  his  quiet  and  gentle  manner  at  once 
reassured  them,  and  they  soon  began  to  laugh  at 
his  clumsiness,  and  to  play  tricks  with  him.  The 
monkeys  began  to  climb  his  trunk,  and  when  he 
shook  them  off  because  their  claws  pierced  his 
thick  skin,  they  declared  that  they  had  mistaken  it 
for  the  stump  of  a  dead  tree.  The  squirrels  bur- 
rowed into  his  huge  ears,  saying  that  they  supposed 
them  to  be  hollows  in  trees,  and  thought  that  they 
should  find  stores  of  hickory  nuts  laid  up  there.  The 
foxes  bit  his  heels,  just  to  see,  they  said,  whether 
they  were  really  made  of  wood. 

The  elephant  took  all  this  in  a  very  good-natured 
way,  so  that  instead  of  fearing  him  they  all  began  to 
despise  him,  the  Lion  most  of  all.  "Still,  one  might 
make  such  a  stupid  brute  useful,"  thought  the  King. 
"I  might  train  him  to  bring  home  the  game  after  I 
have  killed  it,  and  thus  save  myself  many  a  weary 
tug."  But  he  never  thought  of  asking  the  elephant 
whether  he  would  like  to  engage  in  his  service.  He 
simply  informed  him  in  a  lordly  way  that  he  would 
be  permitted  to  remain  at  Court,  and  would  not  be 
harmed  so  long  as  he  did  what  was  required  of  him. 


MODESTY.  ^       103 


Now  the  elephant  cared  nothing  for  threats.  He 
was  not  afraid,  but  at  the  same  time  he  liked  to  live 
in  peace.  He  knew  well  enough  that  he  had  tre- 
mendous strength,  but  he  never  boasted  of  it,  and 
never  needed  it  except  to  defend  himself.  So  he 
cared  nothing  for  the  Lion's  bragging,  and  as  there 
was  plenty  of  food  for  him  in  the  neighborhood,  he 
thought  he  might  as  well  spend  a  little  time  in 
**  society." 

He  remained  some  days  at  Court,  and  because  he 
did  not  roar  and  rave  about  like  the  Lion,  all  the 
beasts  became  confirmed  in  the  opinion  that  he  was 
a  great  coward,  who  wouldn't  dare  to  fight  a  mouse. 

At  last  one  day  the  King  went  a-hunting,  and  all 
the  court  went  with  him.  He  succeeded  in  killing  a 
fine  large  buck,  which  he  ordered  the  elephant  to 
carry  home.  With  his  usual  good  nature  the 
elephant  wound  his  trunk  about  the  body  of  the  deer, 
swung  it  upon  his  back  and  trudged^  along. 

Now  while  they  were  yet  at  some  distance  from 
home,  the  elephant,  feeling  hungry,  stopped  to  browse 
on  the  lower  limbs  of  a  tree  under  which  he  chanced 
to  pass.  The  Lion,  being  also  hungry,  ordered  him 
to  come  along  and  not  keep  his  betters  waiting  for 
their  dinners.  The  elephant  replied  that  he  only 
wanted  a  few  mouthfuls,  and  would  come  along 
directly  ;  whereupon  the  King  flew  into  a  great  rage 
and  declared  that  he  would  kill  him  then  and  there. 


104      <  SUNDAY  STOBIES. 

So  he  walked  up  to  him  foaming  at  the  mouth  and 
lashing  his  tail.  But  the  elephant  was  ready  for  him. 
Just  as  he  saw  the  Lion  crouching  to  spring  at  his 
throat,  quick  as  thought  he  wrapped  the  long  trunk 
about  him,  picked  him  up  from  the  ground,  and 
giving  him  a  swing  tossed  him  some  distance  away 
unhurt. 

Here  was  a  pickle  for  a  Lion  and  a  King  to  be  in, 
with  all  his  court  looking  on  to  see  him  beaten.  He 
did  not  much  relish  the  idea  of  trying  it  again,  but 
he  knew  that  he  would  be  Kins;  no  lono-er  if  he 
acknowledged  himself  vanquished. 

The  elephant  also  knew  that  he  could  have  no 
more  peace  with  the  Lion  ;  for  if  the  latter  found  he 
could  not  kill  him  in  open  battle,  he  would  some  time 
spring  upon  him  in  his  sleep.  So  he  determined  to 
finish  the  King  then  and  there.  As  he  advanced 
once  more  the  elephant  was  ready.  Catching  him 
again  Avith  his  trunk,  he  lifted  him  high  up  in  the  air 
and  dashed  him  violently  upon  the  ground,  with  so 
much  force  as  to  break  half  the  bones  in  his  body. 
The  Lion  had  just  life  enough  left  to  crawl  away,  and 
what  became  of  him  none  of  his  Court  ever  knew. 
He  was  never  heard  of  again  in  that  country. 

The  beasts  were  all  very  glad  to  be  relieved  from 
fear  of  him,  and  made  the  elephant  King  in  his 
place. 

This  story  illustrates  my  first  point,  which  is,  that 


MODESTY.  105 


they  who  possess  the  highest  strength  and  courage 
are  modest  or  meek.  The  braggart  is  always  at  heart 
something  of  a  coward,  and  is  never  so  much  of  a 
person  as  he  gives  himself  out  to  be.  I  think  you 
will  never  find  the  maxim  fail,  that  people  who  are 
really  powerful  like  the  elephant,  in  respect  of  mind 
or  body,  are  also  modest  people  who  never  boast  of 
their  strength,  and  do  not  show  it  upon  all  occasions, 
but  who  nevertheless  know  well  enough  how  to  use 
it  when  the  time  comes. 

People  who  think  they  know  more  or  are  stronger 
in  any  way,  than  all  the  rest  of  the  world  put 
together,  are  pretty  sure  to  find,  like  the  Lion,  some 
one  or  something  that  can  take  the  conceit  out  of 
them. 

Now  I  know  that  children  are  pretty  sharp  and 
clear-sighted,  so  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  have  not 
yet  shown  the  verse  at  the  beginning  of  my  story  to 
be  true.  Suppose  that  all  strong  people  are  meek, 
that  is  not  saying  that  all  meek  people  are  strong. 
You  might  say  that  everybody's  head  is  round,  but 
that  would  not  be  saying  that  every  round  thing  is  a 
head,  for  there  are  apples  and  pumpkins,  and  many 
things  that  are  round  as  well  as  heads. 

So  now  having  shown  you  that  great  strength  is 
modest,  I  must  try  to  show  you  that  in  modesty  is 
strength.  Or  as  the  text  says,  The  meek  shall 
inherit  the  earth.  And  this  will  be  the  second  point 
I  shall  try  to  illustrate. 


io6  SUNDAY    STORIES. 


A  spider  once  in  the  spring-time  made  a  very  large 
and  beautiful  web  across  a  little  cleft  in  some  rocks, 
calculating  that  it  would  supply  him  with  food  all 
summer  long.  Just  after  it  was  finished  there  blew 
into  it  a  little  thistle  seed,  which,  having  some  of  its 
last  year's  down  still  upon  it,  was  caught  and  held 
fast.  Out  came  the  spider,  thinking  he  had  caught 
a  fly,  and  when  he  found  only  a  thistle-seed,  he  was 
very  angry. 

The  seed  said  to  the  spider,  "  I  am  only  a  little 
mite  of  a  thing,  please  carry  me  out  into  the  sun- 
light, where  I  shall  find  more  room  to  grow."  But 
the  spider  replied  that  he  should  have  trouble  enough 
to  mend  his  web,  and  would  do  nothing  but  drop  the 
seed  into  the  little  dark  hole  underneath. 

Very  soon  a  little  pale  green  head  began  to  peer 
up  from  this  dark  corner  toward  the  light.  One  day 
the  spider  caught  sight  of  it.  '*  Hullo  !  "  said  he  to 
himself,  "  so  that  ugly  little  seed  has  begun  to  grow  !  " 
**  I  say,"  he  called  out,  ''what  do  you  expect  to  come 
to,  down  there.  If  I  were  such  a  sickly-looking  thing 
as  you,  I  would  give  up  and  die."  "  To  be  sure," 
replied  the  young  thistle,  "  I  am  yet  small  and  weak, 
and  not  very  healthy  here  in  the  dark.  But  I  get  a 
little  sun,  sometimes,  and  with  his  light  to  help  me  I 
hope  by  and  by,  to  get  out  into  open  day."  "  Pooh  !  " 
said  the  spider.  "  It  is  precious  little  notice  that  the 
sun  will   take  of  you,   I   think.     And  besides,   don't 


MODESTY. 


107 


you  see  that  I  have  spun  my  web  directly  over  you  ? 
You  can't  get  out  through  that."  The  thistle  only 
replied  that  it  would  do  the  best  it  could. 

Day  by  day  it  kept  growing,  and  as  the  spider  saw 
how  large  it  was,  he  began  to  strengthen  his  web. 
He  spun  it  so  fine  and  it  looked  so  solid,  that  the 
poor  thistle  sometimes  gave  itself  up  for  lost,  and 
thought  it  should  never  get  out  to  daylight.  Then 
the  spider  was  so  confident, , and  laughed  so  loudly  at 
what  he  called  the  pretensions  of  the  thistle,  that  its 
courage  grew  less  and  less  every  day.  But  it  kept 
on  growing,  and  after  a  time  its  head  pushed  up 
against  the  centre  of  the  web  and  began  to  lift  it. 
Then  the  spider  became  alarmed.  He  ran  hither 
and  thither,  strengthening  his  little  silken  ropes. 
But  of  course  it  was  of  no  use.  The  thistle  was  now 
up  where  the  sun  shone  upon  it  and  it  grew  very  fast. 
So  in  a  week  more,  nothing  was  left  of  the  web  but  a 
few  tatters  flying  in  the  wind,  and  the  spider  had  all 
his  work  to  do  over  aoain. 

The  thistle  was  strongest,  because  it  meekly  relied 
upon  the  help  of  the  sun,  while  the  spider  vainly 
trusted  in  the  strength  of  the  little  threads  he  had 
spun  out  of  himself. 

So  there  is  a  sun  from  which  our  souls  derive  help. 
If  we  are  vain  and  proud  like  the  spider,  we  shall 
trust  wholly  in  what  we  can  do  of  ourselves.  If  we 
are  meek  in  disposition,  we  shall  ask  God,  the  sun  of 


io8  SUNDAY   S TOBIES. 

our  lives,  to  help  us ;  and  when  his  strength  comes 
into  our  hearts,  we  shall  make  short  work  with  all 
the  cobwebs. 

Now  let  me  try  to  put  the  same  truth  into  a  little 
story  rather  more  like  real  life.  There  were  once 
two  boys  who  set  out  together  to  seek  their  fortunes, 
and  first  they  decided  to  go  to  sea.  So  they  walked 
to  the  city,  and  found  a  ship  just  about  to  sail. 
They  found  her  captain,  and  asked  him  if  he  would 
take  them.  The  captain  inquired  what  they  knew 
about  a  ship.  One  of  them,  named  Tom,  said  at 
once,  "  Oh  !  a  great  deal."  The  other,  named  Joe, 
said,  *'  Not  much,"  but  he  would  try  to  learn.  ''  Can 
you  furl  the  yard-arm  ?  "  asked  the  captain.  Now  of 
course,  no  one  can  do  that,  any  more  than  he  can 
fold  up  a  board,  and  the  captain  only  asked  this  to 
catch  them.  -  Neither  knew  what  it  meant,  but  Joe 
said  at  once  that  he  could  not.  Tom  said,  "Oh,  yes," 
he  knew  all  about  furling  the  yard-arm.  "Very  well," 
said  the  captain,  "you  may  do  that  for  me,  and  Joe 
may  coil  up  this  rope.  If  you  do  your  tasks  well,  I 
will  employ  you." 

Tom  immediately  began  running  about  among  the 
sailors,  asking  them  where  he  could  find  the  yard- 
arm,  and  how  he  should  furl  it.  Some  simply 
laughed  at  him,  others  sent  him  to  various  parts  of 
the  ship  above  and  below  decks.  At  length  one  fel- 
low told  him  that  to  furl  the  yard-arm,  a  man  had  to 


MODESTY.  109 


be  pulled  up  into  the  rigging  by  a  rope  made  fast  to 
his  heels,  and  untie  certain  knots  in  the  shrouds.  So 
the  man  tied  a  rope  to  Tom  and  pulled  him  up  a  lit- 
tle way  from  the  deck,  where  he  left  him  hanging  by 
his  heels,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  sailors. 

Meantime,  Joe  looked  about  him  and  saw  one  of 
the  men  coiling  a  rope,  and  after  watching  him  a 
moment,  he  knew  how  to  do  the  task  the  captain  had 
set  for  him,  and  did  it  so  carefully  and  neatly  that 
when  the  captain  came  out  from  the  cabin,  he  told 
Joe  that  he  had  done  very  well,  and  as  he  was  short 
of  hands,  at  once  engaged  him  for  the  voyage. 

Tom,  too,  was  so  humble  when  brought  down  to 
the  deck  again,  that  the  captain  was  prevailed  upon  to 
take  him  also.  So  they  sailed  away  from  port,  and 
after  they  had  recovered  from  their  first  sea-sickness, 
set  about  learning  to  be  sailors.  Tom  always  thought 
he  could  do  everything,  was  always  thrusting  himself 
forward,  and  consequently  got  into  a  great  many  bad 
scrapes,  without  learning  much  after  all.  Joe  kept 
his  eyes  open,  but  never  boasted,  and  only  did  what 
he  was  asked  to  do,  as  well  as  he  was  able.  The  con- 
sequence was  that  he  learned  very  fast,  and  soon 
became  a  handy  sailor. 

The  ship,  after  being  out  some  weeks,  encountered 
a  very  heavy  storm,  and  the  men  were  forced  to  work 
night  and  day  till  they  were  nearly  worn  out.  But 
at  length  the  storm  subsided,  and  they  ran  into  a  very 


SUNDAY  STOEIES. 


thick  fog  so  that  a  sharp  lookout  had  to  be  kept  up 
every  moment  to  guard  against  running  into  other 
vessels.  Now  Tom  had  thought  it  would  be  a  very- 
fine  thing  to  be  stationed  up  aloft,  and  cry  out,  *'  Sail 
on  the  starboard  bow  !  "  as  the  lookout  did.  So  the 
day  after  the  storm  he  besought  the  officer  on  duty 
to  let  him  go  up  and  take  the  lookout's  place  for  an 
hour  or  two,  in  order  that  he  might  get  some  rest. 
The  officer  knew  that  the  lookout  man  was  very  much 
exhausted,  as  all  the  men  were,  and  after  questioning 
Tom  to  make  sure  that  he  knew  starboard  from  port, 
he  consented,  but  cautioned  him  to  keep  his  eyes 
open. 

So  Tom  went  aloft  and  relieved  the  lookout,  and 
felt  very  grand  at  taking  this  responsible  place.  For 
a  little  while  he  looked  very  eagerly,  but  nothing 
came  in  sight,  and  the  fog  was  so  thick  that  he  could 
only  see  a  little  way  ahead.  The  officer  frequently 
called  to  him,  to  make  sure  he  was  doing  his  duty, 
and  he  replied  so  promptly  that  the  officer's  fears 
were  quieted. 

But  Tom  found  it  rather  chilly  work,  and  it 
occurred  to  him  that  if  he  could  lash  himself  to 
the  mast,  he  could  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
keep  them  warm.  So  he  took  the  end  of  one  of  the 
ropes  used  in  furling  the  sails,  and  proceeded  to  tie 
his  body  firmly  to  the  mast.  But  there  were  several 
knots  to  be  untied  first,  and,  as  this  took  some  little 
time,  Tom  forgot  all  about  keeping  the  lookout. 


MODESTY.  Ill 


At  length,  just  as  he  had  finished,  he  glanced  up 
and  saw  a  great  ship  close  upon  them  on  his  port  or 
left-hand  side.  It  was  well  that  he  was  tied  to  the 
mast,  or  in  his  sudden  fright  he  would  have  fallen. 
His  brain  grew  confused,  and  he  shouted,  "  Sail  close 
on  the  starboard,"  which  means  right.  Now,  the  two 
ships  would  have  passed  each  other  if  they  had  both 
kept  straight  on.  But  the  man  at  the  helm  hearing 
Tom's  cry,  instantly  put  his  helm  so  as  to'  turn  his 
ship  toward  the  left,  and,  owing  to  Tom's  mistake, 
ran  her  directly  into  the  side  of  the  other  vessel. 

There  was  a  great  crash  ;  captain  and  men  came 
running  on  deck,  axes  were  brought,  and  after  a  time 
the  ships  were  cut  loose  from  each  other.  Then  it 
was  seen  that  the  stranger's  side  was  completely 
crushed  in,  and  hardly  had  they  got  away  from  her 
when  she  filled  and  sank.  Her  crew,  all  who  had 
not  climbed  into  the  other  ship  through  the  rigging, 
while  they  were  fast  locked  together,  jumped  into 
the  water,  and  the  captain  of  Tom's  ship  instantly 
ordered  the  boats  to  be  lowered.  But  before  he  could 
be  obeyed  a  boat  shot  out  from  under  the  vessel's 
stern,  in  which  Joe  was  rowing  with  all  his  might. 

When  he  came  on  deck,  after  the  collision,  he  saw 
he  could  be  of  no  use  forward,  so  he  quietly  went  aft 
and  managed  somehow  to  lower  one  of  the  boats,  to 
be  ready  for  an  emergency.  So,  just  as  soon  as  he 
saw  the  men  in  the  water,  he  pulled  away,  and  before 


112  SUNDAY   STORIES. 

another  boat  could  be  lowered  he  had  picked  them 
all  up.  So  Joe  figured  as  the  hero  of  the  occasion  ; 
while,  after  the  helmsman  told  his  story,  poor  Tom 
got  nothing  but  a  scolding. 

I  am  sure  it  will  not  surprise  you  to  be  told  that 
Tom  never  found  his  fortune  as  a  sailor,  and  that 
Joe  became  in  after  years  captain  of  many  ships,  and 
won  his  way  to  the  confidence  and  respect  of  all  who 
had  to  do 'with  him. 

What  I  want  you  to  see  is  this :  that  one  boy 
failed  because  he  thought  he  knew  everything,  and 
was  always  thrusting  himself  forward  into  places 
which  he  could  not  fill ;  and  that  the  other  succeeded 
because  he  modestly  waited  till  he  should  be  called 
upon,  and  undertook  nothing  which  he  was  not  sure 
of  accomplishing.  This,  to  be  sure,  is  not  all  that 
Jesus  meant  by  the  word  meekness,  but  it  is  part  of 
it,  and  that  part  which  I  think  children  have  most 
need  to  learn.  , 

You  must  learn  by  hard  experience,  if  you  will  not 
learn  without,  that  you  are  very  far  from  knowing 
everything,  and  from  being  able  to  do  everything 
that  you  would  like  to  do.  When  you  learn  this, 
you  are  meek,  as  Christ  means  us  to  be. 

You  will  sometimes  hear  it  said  that  the  great 
secret  of  success  is  what  is  called,  in  slang  phrase, 
"cheek."  If  one  only  has  "cheek"  enough,  some 
people  think,  he  will  get  on  in  the  world  well  enough. 


MODESTY. 


113 


Don't  believe  a  word  of  such  nonsense  —  not  a  word! 
People  must  have  courage  and  resolution,  but  the 
self-conceited  man  is  almost  sure  to  come  to  failure 
in  the  end. 

You  must  learn,  first  of  all,  to  look  up  to  God; 
feeling  that  you  have  great  need  of  His  help,  and 
that  without  His  blessing  you  can  do  nothing. 

You  must  learn  in  the  next  place  that  you  have 
need  of  the  counsel  and  advice  of  all  that  are  older 
and  wiser  than  you.  You  must  not  allow  yoursel-ves 
to  think,  "  Oh,  yes  ;  I  know  all  about  it.  I  can  do 
everything  that  I  want  to  do."  You  must  know  that 
the  duties  of  life  are  very  serious  things,  and  not  to 
be  done  easily. 

If  you  see  a  boy  who  says  to  himself,  ''  Oh,  that's 
nothing  —  I  can  do  that  perfectly ; "  you  may  be 
pretty  sure  that  he  will  make  a  blunder  before  he 
gets  through.  If  he  has  the  feeling,  ''I'll  do  the  best 
I  can,"  he  is  much  more  likely  to  get  through  suc- 
cessfully. This,  I  suppose,  is  what  Christ  meant  by 
saying  that  the  meek  shall  inherit  the  earth.  They 
who  modestly  try  to  do  what  they  can,  will  succeed 
better  than  those  who  think  they  can  do  everything. 

15 


IX. 

THE   ONE   THING   NEEDFUL. 

The  kingdom  of  heaven-is  like  unto  a  merchantman  seeking  goodly 
pearls ;  who,  when  he  had  found  one  pearl  of  great  price,  went  and 
sold  all  that  he  had  and  bought  it. — Matt.  xiii.  45,  46. 

"X/'OU  do  not  know,  dear  children  —  nor  can  you 
know,  till  in  older  years  you  look  back  upon 
your  childhood  —  how  much  you  have  to  be  grateful 
for,  which  other  people  when  they  were  children  did 
not  enjoy.  A  few  hundred  years  ago,  as  you  will 
learn  from  your  histories,  the  only  schooling  children 
could  get  was  what  they  could  remember  of  the  lec- 
tures of  monks. 

There  were  no  books  for  them,  and  most  of  them 
had  never  been  taught  to  read  or  write,  when  these 
monks  or  schoolmen  began  to  lecture.  But  hundreds 
of  them  in  England  begged,  their  way  to  the  towns, 
and  there  got  all  their  living  by  begging,  in  order 
that  they  might  hear  what  these  monks  could  tell. 

Since  that  day  the  schools  have  grown  better  and 
better ;  but  even  now  you  will  hear  many  fathers  say, 
"Oh,  if  I  only  could  have  had  the  benefit  of  such 
schools  as  my  boys  and  girls  attend." 

People's  ideas  about  a  church,  what  it  can  do  for 
them  and  their  children,  and  what  it  means  to  join  a 
church,  have  all  changed  a  great  deal. 


THE   ONE  THING  NEEDFUL. 


I  am  not  going  to  trouble  you  about  this  change 
further  than  as  it  applies  to  you  children.  Suppose, 
on  a  bright  summer's  day,  you  were  to  enter  a  great 
empty  church,  with  windows  all  closed  and  shades 
down  ;  a  damp,  mouldy  smell  in  the  air,  which  would 
send  the  shivers  all  over  you;  heavy,  gloomy  shad- 
ows on  all  its  walls,  and  the  hollow  echoes  soundino- 
away  up  in  the  dim  roof  whenever  you  ventured  to 
speak.  Should  you  not  say,  *•  Oh,  dear  !  let  us  hurry 
out  into  the  open  air,  where  we  can  see  the  sun  and 
hear  the  birds.?"  Well,  that  is  something  like  the 
feeling  children  used  to  have  about  church. 

Now,  suppose  on  some  dreary  November  day  you 
were  forced  to  take  a  little  journey,  say  a  walk  home 
from  school  through  a  cold  rain  and  colder  wind. 
Suppose,  all  wet  through  to  your  skin,  and  feeling 
as  if  your  back  bone  were  one  great  icicle,  tired, 
hungry  and  discouraged,  you  should  reach  your 
home,  and,  just  before  mounting  the  steps,  should 
catch  a  glimpse,  through  the  window,  of  the  bright 
fire  and  the  happy  faces  gathered  about  it.  How 
beautiful  it  would  look  to  you,  and  how  glad  you 
would  be  to  get  home  ! 

That  is  the  way  we  should  like  to  make  children 
feel  about  the  church.  We  want  to  get  all  the 
brightness  and  good  cheer  into  it  that  we  can,  and 
shut  outside  all  the  darkness  and  cold.  When  you 
think  of  religion,  we  want  you  to  think  of  something 


ii6  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

which  will  make  you  a  great  deal  happier  in  life  than 
you  can  be  without  it. 

In  one  of  his  shorter  parables,  Jesus  says  :  '*  The 
kingdom  of  heaven  is  like  unto  a  merchantman  seek- 
ing goodly  pearls ;  who,  when  he  had  found  one  pearl 
of  great  price,  went  and  sold  all  that  he  had  and 
bought  it."  That  means  that  one's  religion  should 
be  more  beautiful  and  precious  than  anything  else  on 
earth.  That  is  just  the  thought  I  wish  to  impress 
upon  you,  and  of  course  I  must  try  to  tell  you  how  it 
can  be  worth  so  much,  and  why  it  has  so  much 
beauty.  I  think  I  can  do  that  rather  better  by  a 
story  than  in  any  other  way. 

There  was  once  a  boy  who  went  out  into  the  world 
to  seek  his  fortune.  Of  course,  all  you  who  have 
read  the  story-books  know  that  boys  once  did  that  a 
great  deal,  though  now-a-days  they  do  not  go  away 
till  they  know  where  they  are  going.  But  all  the 
books  tell  about  bright  little  fellows  who,  without 
even  a  penny  of  spending-money,  and  with  no  idea 
of  going  to  any  particular  place,  went  out  to  seek 
their  fortunes.  So  this  boy,  who  shall  be  called 
Edwin,  set  off  one  bright  morning,  without  telling 
even  his  mother  what  was  in  his  mind,  and  resolved 
not  to  come  back  again  till  he  should  be  rich  and 
famous. 

As  he  went  along  all  the  birds  asked  of  him, 
^'  Where  are  you  going,  little  boy,  with  such  a  bright 


THE   OXE   THING   NEEDFUL. 


117 


look  on  your  face?"  and  Edwin  answered,  "I  am 
going  to  seek  my  fortune."  "And  what  fortune  do 
you  seek  ?  "  asked  they  again.  "  Riches  and  fame," 
replied  the  boy. 

Then  the  birds  stopped  singing,  and  looked  after 
him  curiously  till  he  was  out  of  sight.  As  he 
trudged  on  through  the  forest,  the  deer  started 
from  his  path  ;  but,  seeing  that  he  did  not  notice 
them,  they  stopped  to  ask,  ''Where  are  you  going, 
little  boy,  with  such  a  far-away  look  in  your  eyes  ? " 
and  Edwin  answered  as  before.  Then  the  deer 
shook  their  heads,  as  if  they  did  not  know  what  to 
make  of  it,  and  watched  him  until  he  was  out  of 
sight. 

He  came  to  a  river,  wide  and  deep,  but  he  rushed 
in  and  nearly  drowned  himself  before  he  could  scram- 
ble back  to  the  shore.  There  was  a  horse  grazing 
upon  the  bank,  who  said  to  him,  "  Where  are  you 
going,  little  boy,  that  you  are  in  such  great  haste  ?  " 
'*  To  seek  my  fortune,"  Edwin  replied.  The  horse 
could  make  nothing  out  of  it,  but  he  offered  to  carry 
him  across  the  river.  So  Edwin  climbed  upon  his 
back,  and  was  taken  safely  over.  But  he  was  in  such 
haste  that  he  hardly  paused  to  thank  the  horse,  who 
stood  long  on  the  bank,  watching  him  till  he  had 
gone  out  of  sight. 

At  last  the  boy  met  a  man  on  horseback,  who 
asked,   "  Who  are  you,  my  boy,  that  you  so  boldly 


ii8  SUNDAY   S TOBIES. 

enter  the  dominions  of  our  sovereign  lord,  the 
king  ? "  **  I  am  going  to  seek  my  fortune,"  said 
Edwin,  and  passed  on.  The  horseman  wheeled 
about  and  looked  after  him  a  little ;  then,  putting 
spurs  to  his  horse,  soon  overtook  him.  "  You  are  a 
plucky  little  fellow,"  said  he,  ''but  you  can't  get 
much  farther  at  that  pace.  Climb  up  behind  me, 
and  I  will  carry  you  a  league  or  two  on  your  jour- 
ney." Edwin  gladly  accepted  the  invitation,  and 
was  soon  seated  astride  the  powerful  animal,  clinging 
round  the  waist  of  his  rider.  Then  the  horse  broke 
at  once  into  a  run.  The  horseman  urged  him  on 
faster  and  faster,  to  try  how  well  the  boy  behind  him 
could  keep  his  seat.  They  rushed  through  dense 
thickets  and  under  low  boughs,  which  caught 
Edwin's  clothing  and  even  tore  his  flesh.  They 
leaped  great  rocks  and  floundered  through  bogs. 
Still  the  boy  held  fast  to  the  rider's  waist.  At 
length,  with  a  great  bound,  the  horse  plunged  from  a 
little  bluff  into  the  waters  of  a  lake  below.  Down 
they  sank,  all  three.  But  when  they  came  up  again, 
Edwin  was  still  in  his  place.  So,  after  that,  the 
horseman  drew  rein  a  little,  and  they  trotted  leis- 
urely along,  till  they  entered  a  beautiful  park,  and 
rode  up  to  the  porch  of  a  palace  all  glittering  with 
gold  and  jewels.  Then  said  the  horseman,  as  they 
dismounted,  ''  Since  you  ride  so  well,  let  us  see  what 
kind  of  page  you  will  make ; "  and  Edwin  followed 
him  into  the  palace. 


TTIE  OXE   THING   NEEDFUL. 


The  knight  gave  him  a  splendid  suit  of  livery,  and, 
after  he  himself  had  dressed,  led  the  way  to  the  great 
hall.  Here,  seated  about  a  long  table,  upon  which 
glittered  great  heaps  of  gold  and  precious  gems,  sat 
a  king  and  his  courtiers,  drinking  and  gambling. 
Pages  were  coming  and  going,  bearing  huge  flagons 
of  wine,  and  among  these  Edwin  took  his  place,  as 
his  master  seated  himself  at  the  table. 

Every  now  and  then  a  fierce  quarrel  would  break 
forth.  Men  would  take  each  other  by  the  throat, 
and  for  a  few  moments  all  would  be  in  an  uproar. 
But  then  the  king  would  rise,  and  in  an  instant  the 
tumult  would  be  stilled.  Rapidly  the  dice  rattled, 
swiftly  the  piles  of  gold  were  changed,  and  deep  and 
often  drank  the  knights.  But  the  wine  soon  began 
to  overpower  their  senses.  One  after  another  they 
fell  fast  asleep,  dice-box  in  hand,  till  even  the  king 
was  snoring  loudly.  The  pages  stole  away  as  their 
masters'  heads  sank  upon  their  breasts,  till  Edwini 
was  left  alone.  Quickly  seizing  one  of  the  rich  rugs,, 
which  was  spread  upon  the  floor,  he  tied  the  corners, 
together  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  a  sack,  and  threw 
into  it  armful  after  armful  of  the  glittering  treasure, 
till  he  could  just  stagger  under  the  load.  Then,, 
watching  his  opportunity,  he  stole  as  noiselessly  as. 
possible  through  the  long  hall  and  out  into  the 
open  air. 

In   the   stables   were   always    the   fleetest    horses 


SUNDAY    STORIES. 


Standing  ready,  saddled  and  bridled,  and  Edwin 
had  little  difficulty  in  leading"  one  out  and  hoisting 
his  load  to  the  saddle  bow.  Then  off  he  went  at  full 
pace,  not  caring  where,  except  to  get  away  from 
the  palace.  *'  Hurrah!"  said  he,  "I  have  found  my 
fortune." 

He  had  not  ridden  far  before  shouts  of  pursuit 
broke  upon  his  ear.  His  escape  had  been  discovered 
and  the  knights  were  all  after  him.  But,  by  good 
luck,  Edwin  had  taken  the  best  horse ;  and  so, 
despite  his  heavy  load,  long  kept  in  the  advance. 
His  pursuers  gained  upon  him,  however,  and  were  at 
his  very  heels,  when  a  sharp  turn  in  the  road  brought 
him  to  a  bridge  over  the  stream  which  marked  the 
boundary  of  the  king's  dominions.  H^is  horse  car- 
ried him  across,  but  at  the  first  bound  upon  the 
other  side  fell  dead.  Edwin  rolled  over  and  over, 
stunned  by  the  fall. 

When  he  again  came  to  consciousness,  no  one  was 
to  be  seen.  He  ran  back  eagerly  to  his  dead  steed, 
and  there  was  still  his  precious  bundle  hung  to  the 
saddle-bow ;  but  when  he  peeped  in,  he  found  that 
all  his  rich  gold  had  turned  into  a  heap  of  filthy  dirt. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  see  that  I  must  seek  some 
better  fortune  than  riches  ; "  and  once  more  he  set 
forth  on  his  pilgrimage.  But  now,  when  the  birds 
asked  him  where  he  was  going,  he  replied,  "  I  am 
seeking  fame  ;  I  will  be  a  great  man.     All  the  world 


THE  OXE   THIXG  NEEDFUL.  121 

shall  hear  of  me,  and  every  mouth  shall  be  full  of  my 
praise."  At  last,  as  he  went  forward,  the  air  began 
to  be  full  of  the  shouts  of  a  distant  multitude,  and 
very  soon  he  could  distinguish  names  which  thou- 
sands of  voices  seemed  to  be  crying  out  at  once. 
Presently  his  path  led  him  to  the  brow  of  a  little  hill, 
and  there  stretched  before  him  a  vast  plain,  filled  as 
far  as  his  eye  could  reach  with  a  dense  crowd.  In 
the  centre  rose  a  stately  temple  in  which  a  magnifi- 
cent queen  was  seated,  and  on  the  steps  stood 
heralds  with  long  brass  trumpets. 

While  Edwin  looked,  he  saw  a  man  mount  the 
steps  and  kneel  before  the  queen,  who  placed  a 
crown  of  laurel  upon  his  brow.  Then  his  name  was 
given  to  the  heralds,  who  shouted  it  through  their 
trumpets,  and  it  was  taken  up  in  thundering  tones 
by  all  the  people.  *'  This,"  said  Edwin,  "  is  the 
Goddess  of  Fame,  and  if  I  can  make  my  way  to  her 
throne,  I  shall  become  famous,  and  7/ij'  name  will  be 
shouted  by  all  the  people."  But  how  to  get  there 
was  the  question,  for  this  was  precisely  what  every 
one  in  the  crowd  was  trying  to  do,  and  they  were  all 
packed  together  so  closely  that  though  he  looked  for 
hours  and  hours,  he  could  not  find  the  smallest 
opening. 

At  last  a  bright  idea  came  into  his  mind.  A  tree 
stood  near  him,  and  its  branches  extended  out  over 
the  heads  of  the  crowd.  Taking  off  his  boots,  he 
16 


SUNDAY   STOBIES. 


clambered  up  to  the  lowest  bough,  and  creeping"  out 
upon  it  a  little  way,  he  found  he  could  almost  touch 
the  heads  of  the  people  beneath,  though  they  were 
so  busy  watching  the  temple  and  shouting  the  names, 
as  one  after  another  the  attendant  heralds  called 
them  out,  that  no  one  paid  the  slightest  attention 
to  him. 

After  taking  a  good  long  rest,  he  swung  himself 
down  and  planted  his  foot  firmly  upon  the  shoulder 
of  a  stout  man  underneath.  The  man  gave  a  grunt 
and  tried  to  get  his  arms  up  to  take  him  off.  But 
before  he  could  do  this,  Edwin  made  a  great  leap  and 
came  down  upon  the  bald  head  of  a  man  in  front. 
His  foot  slipped  and  he  very  nearly  tore  off  the  poor 
man's  ear,  but  he  couldn't  stop  to  make  any  apolo- 
gies. At  the  next  jump  he  crushed  a  lady's  new 
spring  bonnet.  So  he  went  from  head  to  head, 
sometimes  up  and  sometimes  down.  He  left  some 
bloody  noses  and  tore  out  a  good  many  handfuls  of 
hair,  in  trying  to  clutch  something  to  help  himself  up 
again,  when  he  fell.  But  nobody  could  free  their 
hands  soon  enough  to  catch  him  as  he  went  over 
them,  and  finally,  with  a  bound  he  cleared  the  last 
head  and  alighted  in  the  open  space  in  front  of  the 
temple. 

Then  he  had  only  to  wait  his  turn,  which  soon 
came.  For  an  instant  he  kneeled  before  the  God- 
dess ;  he  felt  the  crown  upon  his  brow ;  he  heard  his 


THE  ONE  THING   NEEDFUL.  123 

name  shouted  by  the  multitude,  and  was  supremely 
happy. 

Full  of  the  consciousness  of  greatness,  he  de- 
scended. But  his  foot  had  scarcely  touched  the 
earth,  when  he  heard  the  air  ring  with  a  new  name, 
and  putting  his  hand  to  his  forehead  he  found  that 
his  crown  had  turned  to  dust.  Still  he  had  been 
made  famous,  and  he  walked  boldly  up  to  the  crowd, 
commanding  them  to  open  and  let  him  pass.  To  his 
surprise  not  one  paid  the  slightest  heed  to  him. 
"  Give  way,"  said  he,  "  I  am  that  Edwin  who  but 
just  now  was  crowned."  But  already  they  had 
forgotten  his  very  name.  There  was  but  one  thing 
to  do ;  he  threw  himself  upon  his  hands  and  knees, 
and  pushed  in  among  the  legs  of  the  multitude.  He 
was  trampled  on,  and  kicked,  and  choked  with  dust ; 
but  at  length,  more  dead  than  alive,  he  did  creep  out 
again. 

So  now  as  he  went  forward  on  his  journey,  and 
when  the  birds  asked  him  where  he  was  sfoins^,  he 
answered  sadly,  '*  I  am  seeking  my  fortune  ;  can  you 
tell  me  what  it  is  ? "  But  though  he  questioned  all 
the  birds  and  the  beasts,  they  could  only  tell  him 
that  they  had  heard  vague  stofts  of  a  wonderful 
treasure,  beyond  a  wide  forest,  if  any  one  was  bold 
enough  to  go  and  claim  it. 

So,  footsore  and  weary,  Edwin  crept  listlessly 
forward  and  entered  the  forest.     No  loncfer  in  eairer 


124 


SUNDAY    STORIES. 


haste,  but  painfully  and  slowly,  without  much  hope 
or  care,  he  walked  on.  And  evermore  as  he  went 
deeper  into  the  forest,  the  shadows  grew  darker,  the 
wind  moaned  more  hoarsely  among  the  trees,  the 
clouds  overhead  grew  blacker  and  began  to  send  out 
their  dazzling  flashes  of  light.  But  Edwin  paid 
little  heed,  till  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents  ;  the 
great  trees  about  him  were  falling  with  crash  after 
crash,  and  the  roar  of  the  thunder  was  incessant. 
Then  half  wild  with  terror,  he  cried  out,  *'  There  is 
no  good-fortune  anywhere ;  it  is  an  ugly,  wicked, 
hateful  world,  and  I  wish  I  had  never  been  born." 

Just  then,  beside  his  path,  he  heard  a  sharp  cry, 
and  stooping  to  see  whence  it  came,  he  saw,  by  a 
flash  of  lio-htnins:,  the  face  of  a  little  old  woman, 
upon  whom  a  tree  had  fallen.  It  was  not  a  very 
ugly  face  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  very  different  from 
the  face  of  that  beautiful  maiden  whom  Edward  had 
seen  in  his  dreams,  and  he  could  not  help  a  little 
feeling  of  disgust.  But  the  old  woman  pleaded 
earnestly  for  help.  She  was  not  much  hurt,  she  said, 
but  the  tree  had  crushed  her  into  the  soft  earth  and 
held  her  prisoner.  So  Edwin  set  to  work  with  his 
hands,  and  soon  cffig  away  the  soil  so  that  she  could 
creep  out.  Then  said  she,  *'  If  you  will  let  me  lean 
upon  you,  I  will  help  you  to  find  your  fortune." 
"  There  is  no  fortune  that  I  care  for,"  said  Edwin ; 
but  he  allowed  her  to  lean  upon  his  arm. 


THE  ONE   THING   NEEDFUL. 


125 


Somehow  her  touch  sent  a  thrill  all  through  him, 
and  his  hope  and  courage  began  to  revive.  She 
spoke  to  him  in  a  sweet  voice,  but  he  could  not  again 
see  her  face,  for  the  lightning  had  died  away  in  a 
distant  glimmer,  leaving  them  in  almost  total  dark- 
ness. But  he  loved  to  hear  her  speak  and  to  feel  her 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

Very  soon  his  ear  caught  strains  of  distant  music. 
It  swelled  and  died  away  with  the  breeze,  and  seemed 
to  come  from  no  particular  direction,  but  rather  to  be 
all  about  them,  instead  of  the  light ;  for  still  Edwin 
could  not  see.  At  last  they  paused  before  what 
appeared,  in  the  dim  outline,  like  a  church.  The 
music,  rich  and  full,  seemed  to  make  the  very  earth 
tremble,  and  a  pure,  soft  light  streamed  through  the 
windows.  Edwin's  heart  was  all  on  fire  with  a  hope 
which  he  could  not  explain  to  himself,  as  he  pushed 
open  the  door  and  entered.  Then  for  the  second 
time,  he  saw  the  face  of  his  companion,  and  now  it 
was  more  lovely  than  any  thing  he  had  ever  seen  in 
his  dreams. 

"Who  are  you.-^"  he  cried,  gazing  rapturously 
upon  her.  '*  My  name  is  Goodness,"  she  replied. 
"  Then,"  said  he,  '*  I  ask  no  other  fortune,  only  that 
you  will  come  back  with  me  to  my  own  country, 
that  I  may  live  in  the  light  of  your  smile."  And  the 
maiden  said,  '*  So  that  you  will  promise  always  to 
love  me  as  you  do  now,  I  will  go  with  you  anywhere 


126  SUNDAY  STOBIES. 

on  the  face  of  the  earth."  Edwin  promised  with  all 
his  heart,  and  a  quiet  voice,  coming  from  some 
unseen  source  above  him,  said,  "  I  have  heard  your 
promise,  go  in  peace." 

When  Edwin  and  his  companion  came  out  again, 
he  thought  the  air  had  never  been  so  bright,  and 
that  he  had  never  heard  the  birds  sing  so  sweetly. 
They  walked  back  through  the  forest,  and  found  it 
all  full  of  the  most  beautiful  flowers.  They  came  to 
the  multitude  still  surging  around  the  temple  of 
Fame,  and  what  was  Edwin's  surprise  to  hear  the 
air  ringing  once  more  with  his  own  name.  The 
crowd  parted  before  them,  and  all  the  people  threw 
flowers  before  them  as  they  walked  up  before  the 
Temple.  Here  the  Queen  offered  them  her  throne. 
But  Edwin  no  longer  cared  for  it,  and  together  they 
passed  on,  leaving  the  crowd  still  shouting  Edwin's 
name. 

They  came  to  the  place  where  the  dead  steed  was 
still  lying,  and  Edwin  showed  his  companion  the 
sack  of  dirt  with  which  he  had  tried  to  escape.  But 
she  took  a  handful  and  held  it  for  an  instant  upon 
her  palm,  where  it  once  more  became  gold  and 
diamonds.  "It  is  only  dross,"  said  she,  *'to  those 
who  do  not  use  it  for  good  purposes." 

Then  she  went  to  the  horse  and  raised  up  his  head, 
and  he  bounded  to  his  feet,  as  full  of  life,  and  strong 
as  ever.     So  they  mounted  and  rode  away  to  Edwin's 


THE  ONE   THING  NEEDFUL.  127 

home,  where  they  lived  long  together,  making  every 
one  about  them  happy,  and  being  themselves  the 
happiest  of  all  glad  people  that  ever  lived. 

This,  children,  is  the  moral  of  my  story :  that  the 
world  is  never  a  bright  or  pleasant  world  to  people 
who  are  merely  rich  or  famous.  Some  of  the 
wealthiest  kings,  and  men  whose  names  were  the 
widest  known,  have  been  miserably  unhappy  all  their 
days,  because  they  had  no  love  of  goodness  in  their 
hearts. 

That  is  why  I  said  at  the  beginning,  that  one's 
religion  should  be  more  beautiful  and  precious  than 
anything  on  earth  beside.  It  is  through  religion  that 
we  learn  to  love  goodness,  and  we  go  to  church, 
because  it  is  only  when  God  pours  light  upon  our 
eyes  that  we  can  see  her  beautiful  face. 


IX. 

SELF-DEVOTION. 


He  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions ;  and  with  his  stripes  we 
are  healed. —  Isaiah,  liii.  5. 

/^^HRISTMAS  time  means,  especially  to  children, 
^^  a  time  for  giving  and  receiving  gifts  ;  for  many 
games  and  relief  from  study ;  for  faces  full  of  good 
cheer  and  hearts  full  of  good  wishes ;  in  brief,  for 
universal  happiness  and  content.  But  how  is  it, 
children,  that  this  world  is  so  full  of  joy  at  all  times, 
and  fairly  bubbles  over  with  delight  at  this  holiday 
season }  What  have  we  done  to  make  life  so 
pleasant,  or  to  deserve  that  God  should  make  it  so 
pleasant  for  us  .-* 

Suppose  that  every  year  you  were  obliged  to  7nake 
all  this  good  time,  instead  of  simply  enjoying  it.  In 
the  autumn  you  go  into  the  orchard,  and  behold !  the 
trees  bend  down  to  you  laden  with  ripe  fruit,  which 
you  have  only  to  pluck  and  eat.  Suppose  that  you 
were  obliged  to  make  your  apples  and  pears  before 
you  could  eat  them.  I  fear  you  would  not  have  them 
in  so  great  plenty,  and  that  what  you  had  would  not 
be  so  deliciously  flavored. 

Well,   somebody  must  make   the  apples.     Nature 


SELF-  BE  VO  TION.  j  2  9 


alone  will  only  grow  little  sour  and  shriveled  things, 
which  nobody  cares  to  eat.  Somebody  must  plant, 
and  prune  and  cultivate  for  many,  many  years,  before 
you  get  your  juicy  pear,  or  mellow,  rosy-cheeked 
apple. 

So  somebody  must  make  the  good  cheer  of  Christ- 
mas time.  Somebody  must  have  toiled  and  suffered 
a  weary  while,  in  order  that  our  hearts  to-day  might 
enjoy  so  much.  Who  has  been  that  somebody,  and 
what  has  that  somebody  done  .'*  It  would  not  do  to 
say  that  any  one  person  has  given  us  everything ;  for 
many  thousand  heads  have  planned,  many  thousand 
fingers  have  labored  to  make  our  holiday  enjoyments. 

But  on  Christmas  day  we  celebrate  the  birth  of 
Christ,  and  we  are  led  to  ask  why  it  is  that  the  gayest 
season  of  all  the  year  should  be  associated  with  that 
event.  What  did  he  do  for  us,  that  we  should 
thus  remember  his  birth  }  You  all  believe,  doubtless 
that  Christ  was  very  good  and  very  great,  and  that 
it  is  your  duty  to  try  and  live  like  him  so  far  as 
you  can.  But  I  fancy  many  of  you  might  ask  me, 
whether  if  Christ  had  not  lived,  we  could  not  be  just 
as  happy  to- day  1  No,  we  could  not,  and  that  is  what 
I  want  to  show  you. 

Many   years    before   the   first    Christmas,    an    old 

Jewish  Prophet,  speaking  (as  is  generally  thought)  of 

the    Christ   who    was    to    come,    as    though    he    had 

already  seen   him,  said  this  :  "  He  was  wounded  for 

17 


130  SUNDAY    STORIES. 

our  transgressions,  and  by  his  stripes  we  are  healed." 
And  that  means  that  he  suffered  to  save  us  from 
suffering  ;  that  because  he  had  so  many  sorrows  to 
endure,  we  are  in  great  measure  freed  from  sorrow. 
This  kind  of  labor  and  suffering  is  known  by  a  hard 
name,  but  you  need  only  remember  that  it  was 
suffering  and  labor  which  Jesus  undertook,  to  save 
some  one  else  from  it. 

"  By  his  stripes  we  are  healed."  Does  that  mean 
that  if  we  feel  sick,  and  can  get  some  one  else  to  take 
a  whipping,  that  will  cure  us.'*  Not  at  all,  though  the 
old  Jews  thought  it  did.  For  when  they  had  done 
wrong,  and  imagined  that  God  was  angry,  they  took 
a  poor  innocent  lamb,  and  killed  it,  thinking  that  by 
its  death  God  would  be  satisfied. 

But  the  text  means  this  rather.  Suppose  you 
were  lost  in  a  wood,  and  had  wandered  and  climbed 
about  till  your  hands  and  feet  were  torn  with  the 
sharp  rocks  ;  your  face  scratched  and  bleeding  from 
your  attempts  to  push  your  way  through  the  tangled 
briars  ;  and  suppose  just  as  you  had  sunk  down  upon 
the  earth,  courage  and  strength  gone,  all  hopes  of 
getting  nearer  home  departed,  some  one  should 
appear  before  you,  saying,  I  will  show  you  the  way. 
Suppose  then  he  should  go  before  you,  choosing  out 
a  smooth  path,  pushing  aside  the  brambles  with  his 
own  hands,  so  that  while  his  clothing  was  torn,  and 
his    body  xyounded  by  the  thorns,  you  could  follow 


SELF-  DEVO TIOX.  j 3 1 


behind,  safe  from  their  cruel  points,  until  he  had  led 
you  out  once  more  under  the  open  sky,  and  put  you 
upon  the  broad  road  for  home.  That  would  be  such 
suffering  as  Christ  took  upon  himself  for  the  sake  of 
others. 

For  men  were  lost  in  a  wilderness,  and  though 
they  had  struggled  long,  they  could  not  find  the  way 
out  into  the  sunshine  of  heavenly  love  and  peace, 
until  Christ  came  to  show  them  the  way.  He  came 
into  the  gloomy  depths  of  ignorance  and  sin,  where 
man  had  sunk  down  exhausted,  saying,  "  Rise  and 
follow  me."  Then  he  went  before,  fighting  all  the 
temptations,  enduring  all  the  griefs  which  had  bewil- 
dered the  world,  until,  through  them,  he  had  made  a 
plain  path  to  heaven,  in  which  others  could  follow. 

This  is  the  way  the  world  escaped  from  the  wilder- 
ness, and  found  its  way  to  so  much  of  the  gladness 
of  heaven.  Surely  it  ought  to  be  happiest  of  all 
when  the  day  comes  round  on  which  this  great  soul 
first  appeared  upon  the  earth. 

I  wish  I  could  show  you  what  a  beautiful  and 
sublime  thing  it  was  that  Jesus  did,  thus  to  give  up 
all  thoughts  of  his  own  ease  and  comfort,  and  take 
upon  himself  a  world's  suffering.  Then  I  should 
hope  that  this  Christmas  would  leave  with  you  some 
deeper  love  for  him,  and  make  you  readier  to  live  a 
noble  life. 

Perhaps,  if  I  can  do  this  at  all,  it  will  be  by  some 


132 


SUNDAY   STOBIES. 


illustrations  which  fall  within  your  experiences  of 
life.  Listen  then.  At  a  boarding-school  for  boys, 
there  was  once  a  rather  feeble  and  sickly  child,  who 
was  neither  very  handsome  in  person  nor  very 
pleasant  in  disposition.  He  was  lame,  and  so  could 
not  join  in  the  sports  of  his  fellows.  He  was  dull, 
and  always  behind  in  his  studies.  No  one  took  much 
notice  of  him  upon  his  f^rst  arrival,  and  so  he  took  a 
dislike  to  the  whole  school.  Being  of  rather  a  crab- 
bed turn  of  mind,  he  resisted  all  proffers  of  friendship, 
and  having  been  guilty  of  one  or  two  little  mean- 
nesses, he  called  down  upon  himself  the  ill-will  of 
everybody. 

Very  soon,  every  little  theft  was  laid  to  him,  and 
if  any  one  lost  an  article  without  knowing  how,  he 
was  sure  Peter  had  stolen  it.  Did  any  one  find  in 
his  seat  a  cunningly-bent  pin  for  him  to  sit  upon, 
that  must  be  Peter's  work.  In  brief,  he  was  charged 
with  many  things  that  he  never  dreamed  of  doing, 
and  this  made  him  sourer  and  meaner  than  ever.  So 
that  he  got  plenty  of  cuffs  and  hard  knocks,  and 
every  one  said,  "  Served  him  right." 

Every  one  but  one,  a  boy  of  about  Peter's  age,  who 
could  not  help  pitying  his  forlorn  and  unhappy  con- 
dition, and  often  thought  he  would  like  to  help  him 
out  of  it  if  he  knew  how.  But  he  could  not  discover 
any  way  to  do  this,  and  so  the  matter  drifted  along, 
getting  always  worse  for  poor  Peter.     At  length,  one 


SELF- DEVOTION.  133 


day  as  the  boys  were  at  play  together,  one  of  the 
older  ones,  who  had  been  using  his  pocket-knife, 
suddenly  missed  it  and  accused  Peter  of  having 
stolen  it.  Peter  at  once  gave  him  the  lie,  coupled 
with  a  not  very  soft  name,  and  words  began  to  run 
high. 

The  whole  school  quickly  gathered  in  a  knot,  and 
most  of  them  sided  entirely  with  the  older  boy. 
Now  Fred,  (the  one  who  had  taken  pity  on  Peter,) 
did  not  believe  that  he  had  stolen  the  knife,  as  while 
it  was  being  used,  he  was  in  a  different  part  of  the 
playground.  But  though  he  said  as  much,  nobody 
listened  to  him,  and  the  big  boy  steadily  worked  him- 
self into  a  furious  passion.  Suddenly,  as  Fred  stood 
beside  him,  he  saw  a  terrible  gleam  of  anger  shoot 
from  his  eyes,  and  he  raised  his  hand  to  strike  the 
weak  and  cowering  boy  before  him.  Not  clearly 
thinking  of  the  consequences,  but  only  feeling  the 
injustice  about  to  be  done,  Fred  sprang  forward  to 
confront  the  assailant  in  Peter's  place.  The  blow 
descended  upon  his  own  head,  and  felled  him  to  the 
earth,  where,  save  for  some  slight  quivering  of  the 
muscles,  he  lay  like  a  log.  Then  there  was  a  great 
commotion.  Fred  was  picked  up  and  taken  to  his 
room,  where  it  was  found  that  he  was  seriously  hurt, 
his  head  having  fallen  upon  a  stone.  Had  the  frailer 
boy  received  the  blow,  it  might  have  killed  him. 

The  knife  was  soon   afterwards  found   just  where 


134  SUNDAY   STORIES. 

the  owner  had  left  it,  so  as  to  clear  Peter  of  all 
suspicion.  His  fellows  began  to  see  that  he  was 
not  quite  so  black  as  they  had  painted  him.  But 
upon  Peter  himself  the  effect  of  this  scene  was 
marvellous.  He  could  not  mistake  Fred's  motive, 
for  aside  from  what  the  latter  had  said,  he  saw  his 
fists  tightly  clenched  as  he  sprang  before  him.  That 
any  one  should  freely  step  into  his  place  and  take  the 
suffering  intended  for  him, —  this  was  a  thing  incred- 
ible to  Peter,  had  he  not  seen  it  with  his  own  eyes. 
It  gave  him  a  new  conception  of  goodness,  and  made 
him  so  thoroughly  ashamed  of  his  mean  disposition, 
that  from  that  day  he  began  to  mend  his  ways,  and 
grew  to  be  one  of  the  best-loved  boys  in  school. 

Now  what  do  you  say  of  this  act  of  Fred's  .^  I  say 
it  was  an  act  of  which  any  one  might  well  be  proud, 
thus  to  take  upon  himself  the  penalty  of  another's 
supposed  transgression.  This  was  what  Christ  did. 
Evil  thoughts  and  evil  passions  were  ruling  the  earth. 
He,  though  without  sin  himself,  stepped  forward  and 
received  the  blows  of  cruel  men.  He  even  let  them 
kill  him,  that  others  might  be  freed  from  sin.  Chil- 
dren,—  his  was  a  life  and  death  which  cannot  be 
matched  in  all  history. 

Here  is  another  short  story  —  which  if  not  entirely 
true,  is  at  least  all  out  of  my  own  head,  and  so  will 
be  new  to  you.  Through  what  befell  a  little  girl,  I 
hope  to  teach  you   the  same  lesson  :  that  those  who 


SELF-DEVOTION. 


35 


suffer  for  the  sake  of  others,  are  the  most  worthy  to 
be  held  in  remembrance.  When  the  world  was  much 
younger  than  it  is  now,  before  there  were  any  rail- 
roads or  even  any  stores,  when  the  wide,  roaring 
fire-place  was  used  for  cooking  as  well  as  for  warmth, 
there  sat  one  evening  before  its  great  blaze,  a  girl, 
dreaming  of  the  coming  Christmas.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a  mountaineer,  who  dwelt  up  among  the 
high  Swiss  Alps,  and  besides  her  father  and  mother, 
knew  hardly  any  one  save  the  little  herd  of  goats, 
with  whom  much  of  her  life  was  passed. 

As  I  said,  she  was  sitting  before  the  open  fire,  for 
the  first  winds  of  winter  had  begun  to  rage,  and  the 
air  was  full  of  driving  snow.  The  child  was  alone, 
her  mother  being  busy  in  the  fading  light  out  of 
doors,  and  her  father  not  yet  returned  from  the 
village  below.  So  the  child  fell  to  dreaming  about 
the  Christmas  only  a  week  or  two  distant,  and 
wondered  whether  this  year  Santa  Claus  would 
remember  her. 

Suddenly,  as  she  watched  the  leaping  blaze,  a  mon- 
strous pair  of  fur-covered  boots  dangled  into  sight 
from  one  corner  of  the  chimney,  and  a  moment  later 
down  dropped  the  stump)^  form  of  Santa  Claus  him- 
self. Before  he  could  get  the  smoke  out  of  his  eyes, 
the  child  cried  out,  ''  Oh,  Santa  Claus  !  shall  I  have  a 
present  this  year  ?  "  *'  Humph  !  "  said  the  old  fellow, 
brushing  the  soot  off  his  nose,  **  how  can  I  tell  before 


136 


SUNDAY   STORIES. 


I  know  whether  you  deserve  one  or  not  ?"  *'0h,  but 
what  shall  I  do  to  deserve  one?"  said  the  girl  eagerly. 
"That  would  be  folly  for  me  to  tell  you,"  replied  he. 
''  Do  what  you  think  is  right,  and  if  it  pleases  me 
you  shall  have  a  present."  "  But  how  shall  I  know 
when  you  are  pleased?"  asked  she  again.  "Oh,  I 
may  perhaps  look  in  upon  you  again  before  Christ- 
mas," replied  Santa  Claus,  giving  a  sharp  look  into 
her  eyes. 

So  saying,  and  having  taken  a  glance  about  the 
room,  to  see  what  the  child  needed  in  case  she 
deserved  anything,  he  made  a  little  hop  into  the 
corner  of  the  chimney,  away  from  the  blaze,  and 
after  some  wriggling  and  kicking,  disappeared  as 
he  had  come.  The  child  sprang  forward  and  shouted 
after  him,  "  Santa  Claus  !  let  it  be  a  large  doll,  with 
red  shoes."  But  whether  Santa  Claus  gave  a  grunt 
or  a  chuckle  in  reply,  or  whether  it  was  only  the 
crackling  of  the  fire,  she  could  not  tell. 

She  said  nothing  of  what  she  had  seen,  but  secretly 
resolved  that  she  would  win  that  doll.  She  was  very 
good,  indeed,  the  next  day  and  week  ;  so  prompt  and 
thoughtful  in  the  discharge  of  all  her  duties,  that  it 
attracted  the  notice  of  her  parents.  From  some- 
thing that  she  said  in  her  sleep,  they  gathered  what 
she  had  seen,  and  v/hat  she  so  much  desired. 

But,  though  every  evening  she  watched  for  Santa 
Claus  in  the  chimney,  no  Santa  Claus  appeared.     I 


SELF-  DEVOriON 


^37 


suppose  he  knew  that  she  was  thinking  always  of  the 
doll,  and  did  not  see  much  virtue  in  her  behavior. 

So  at  last  Christmas  Eve  came,  and  with  it  a  terri- 
ble storm.  The  wind  howled  most  dismally  about 
the  mountaineer's  little  cottage,  and  the  snow  drove 
through  the  cracks  of  the  rude  door.  Mother  and 
father  were  dozing  in  the  chimney  corner,  and  the 
girl  sat  before  the  fire,  looking  into  it  half  eagerly, 
half  sadly,  because  Santa  Claus  had  not  appeared  to 
her  again  —  hoping  against  hope  that  the  morrow 
might  bring  her  the  doll.  All  at  once  she  jumped  to 
her  feet,  turned  toward  the  door  and  stood  listening. 
Another  gust  swept  by,  and  surely  she  heard  it  again 
—  this  time  quite  distinctly  —  the  bleat  of  a  kid  from 
the  cliffs  above.  Waiting  only  to  snatch  up  her 
shawl,  she  quickly  undid  the  fastening  of  the  door, 
and,  without  waking  her  parents,  passed  out  into  the 
storm. 

Once  more  she  stood  and  listened,  and  again  the 
beseeching  cry  came  down  the  mountain-side,  min- 
gled with  the  howling  of  the  wind. 

She  instantly  recognized  it  as  the  bleat  of  her 
favorite  white  kid,  whom  she  loved  almost  as  well  as 
her  father  and  mother,  and  better  than^all  the  world 
beside.  Bitterly  did  her  heart  reproach  her,  for  she 
had  been  so  absorbed  in  her  dreams  that  she  had  not 
gone  out  that  evening,  as  was  her  wont,  when  the 
goats  were  driven  into  the  fold,  to  see  if  her  darling 
i8 


138  SUNDAY    STORIES. 

was  safe.     He  must  have  strayed  from  the  herd,  and 
her  father  had  not  noticed  it. 

There  was  a  narrow  path  leading  up  through  the 
rocks  behind  the  fold,  which  the  child  knew  perfectly 
well,  and  although  it  was  night,  and  the  snow  was 
fast  drifting  it  full,  up  this  path  she  sprang.  Many 
times  she  slipped  and  fell  on  the  steep  ascent,  but 
soon  she  came. out  upon  an  open  space  and  paused 
to  listen.  Again  she  caught  the  plaintive  cry,  and 
once  more  on  and  up  she  ran.  But  at  the  next  pause 
the  voice  of  the  kid  was  as  far  away  as  ever.  Evi- 
dently he  was  bewildered  by  the  storm,  and  was  going 
farther  away  from  home.  She  shouted  his  name  with 
all  her  strength,  hoping  that  he  might  hear  her  and 
wait  till  she  came  up  with  him.  The  wind,  however, 
which  bore  his  cry  to  her,  took  hers  away  from  him, 
and  the  poor  little  fellow  wandered  on. 

The  child  pursued,  straining  every  nerve  to  over- 
take him  —  ever  pausing  to  get  the  direction  from 
his  voice,  and  shouting  in  reply.  She  had  long  ago 
forsaken  the  main  path  and  wandered  off  among  the 
ledges,  where  even  the  goats  had  need  of  their  sure 
footing  to  prevent  them  from  falling  over  the  preci- 
pices. But  wherever  a  goat  could  go  she  could  fol- 
low ;  and,  heeding  no  danger,  she  hurried  on.  The 
wind  had  blown  the  shawl  from  her  shoulders  ;  her 
hands  were  torn  from  clinging  to  points  of  rock ; 
the  snow  filled  her  hair  and  blinded  her  eyes,  so  that 
she  was  often  obliged  to  pause  till  a  gust  had  swept 


SELF-DEVOTION.  139 


by,  to  enable  her  in  the  dim  light  to  distinguish  her 
way.  Sometimes,  indeed,  she  was  on  the  point  of 
turning  back,  but  then  the  cry  of  her  kid  would  reach 
her  ears,  and  with  a  sob  of  mingled  hope  and  fear 
she  would  start  forward  again. 

At  last  she  knew  that  she  was  nearing  him,  for  his 
bleat  grew  more  distinct.  Still  it  was  short  and 
faint,  and  the  child  knew  that  he  had  fallen  ex- 
hausted. Soon  she  came  near  enough  to  make  him 
hear  her  and  answer  her  pet  name. 

Suddenly  all  the  air  was  filled  with  a  distant  roar, 
louder  than  the  storm,  like  the  low  roll  of  distant 
thunder.  The  child  stood  numb  with  terror  as  she 
heard  it,  for  it  was  a  loosened  avalanche.  She  knew 
that  the  path  by  which  they  often  descended  was  just 
before  her.  Nay !  that  if  it  were  a  large  one  it  might 
sweep  over  the  very  spot  where  she  was  standing. 
All  her  soul  was  in  one  thought  —  to  save  her  kid. 
A  few  springs  brought  her  to  the  spot  where  he  was 
lying.  As  she  bent  over  him,  he  struggled  to  his 
feet.  She  had  just  time  to  clasp  him  in  her  arms, 
when  the  avalanche  struck  her  and  whirled  her  away. 
Not  far,  however,  for  she  was  just  upon  its  edge  ; 
and,  clutching  with  one  hand,  while  the  other  held 
her  kid,  at  the  branch  held  down  to  her  by  a  friendly 
tree,  she  held  on  with  all  her  remaining  strength. 
After  a  moment  all  was  still.  The  avalanche  had 
passed,  her  kid  was  safe,  and  then  she  knew  nothing- 
more. 


140  SUNDAY  STOBIES. 


Soon  after  the  girl  had  left  the  cottage,  her  father 
awoke  from  his  doze,  to  find  her  gone  and  the  door 
unfastened.  At  first  he  thought  nothing  of  it ;  but, 
as  she  did  not  return,  he  stepped  to  the  door,  where 
he  heard  her  calling  to  her  goat  on  the  mountain-side 
above.  Seizing  his  lantern,  he  rushed  out  and  fol- 
lowed her.  The  fierce  wind  which  prevented  the  kid 
from  hearing  her  swept  back  her  father's  voice,  and 
he  could  only  follow  her,  as  she  did  the  kid.  He 
was  close  upon  her  when  the  avalanche  came,  and 
after  it  had  passed,  was  not  long  in  finding  her. 
When  the  child  awoke  from  her  stupor  she  found 
herself  once  more  before  the  open  fire.  The  first 
object  she  saw  was  a  large  doll,  with  red  shoes, 
sitting  in  the  chimney  corner.  The  next  she  saw,  or 
thought  she  saw,  was  the  face  of  Santa  Claus  peep- 
ing down  the  chimney,  all  covered  with  the  broadest 
smile.  He  lingered  only  long  enough  to  give  a 
very  slow  and  emphatic  wink,  and  then  disappeared. 
Then  she  heard  her  mother  saying,  ''  It  must  be 
because  my  little  girl  was  brave  enough  to  risk  her 
life  to  save  a  poor  kid  from  perishing  with  cold,  that 
Santa  Claus  has  brought  her  this  beautiful  present." 

This,  then,  is  my  story,  and  this  is  its  lesson  :  that 
they  who,  out  of  love  for  others,  will  endure  suffering 
to  save  them  from  it,  are  the  noblest  among  their 
fellows  ;  best  loved  by  God  and  man.  Most  like  to 
Christ,  who  was  wounded  and  killed  for  the  trans- 
gressions of  others. 


XL 
LOYALTY. 


Be  thou  faithful  unto  death,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  crown  of  life. 

— AVz'..  ii.  ic. 

^  I  ^HE  Book  of  Revelation,  as  you  all  very  well 
know,  is  the  last  book  of  our  New  Testament, 
and  among  modern  Christians,  is  generally  considered 
of  the  least  importance.  And  yet  there  are  so  many 
beautiful  things  in  it,  that  it  is  well  worth  any  one's 
while  to  read  and  study  it,  though  they  may  not 
understand  all  its  pictures  and  symbols. 

This  promise  which  I  want  you  to  remember,  as  my 
text,  is  one  of  the  finest  passages  in  the  whole  Bible. 
St,  John,  the  Revelator,  relates  that  he  was  on  the 
island  of  Patmos  one  "  Lord's  day,"  (our  Sunday,) 
when  he  heard  a  voice  behind  him,  commanding  him 
to  write  what  he  should  hear  and  see,  to  the  seven 
churches  of  Asia.  Then  he  fell  into  a  vision,  and 
saw  the  Spirit  of  Jesus,  who  sent  a  message  to  each 
of  these  churches.  To  that  of  Smyrna,  he  said  that 
he  was  not  unmindful  of  the  sufferings  it  had 
endured  and  Avould  thereafter  be  called  upon  to 
bear,  but  he  left  with  it  this  promise,  '*  Be  faithful 
unto  death,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  crown  of  life." 


142  SUNDAY  STOEIES. 

You  know  that  in  the  old  games  of  wrestling, 
running,  etc.,  engaged  in  by  the  Grecian  youth, 
whoever  was  judged  the  victor,  was  rewarded  with 
a  crown  of  laurels.  So  in  the  tournaments  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  when  knights,  all  cased  in  armor,  rode 
at  full  gallop  through  the  lists,  and  endeavored  to 
unhorse  their  adversaries  by  striking  them  with  their 
spears  ;  or,  in  more  peaceful  contests,  tried  who  could 
most  skillfully  bear  off  a  suspended  ring  upon  the 
point  of  his  lance,  as  he  ran  his  steed  underneath  it 
—  in  these  warlike  games,  the  champion  received  a 
crown.  The  crown  was  a  reward  for  well  doing ;  so 
the  promise  of  Jesus  was  :  I  will  reward  with  life 
in  another  world,  those  who  are  faithful  till  death 
here. 

Now  I  want  to  tell  you,  first,  what  it  is  to  be  faith- 
ful until  death,  and,  second,  how  or  in  what  ways,  you 
may  be  faithful  to  the  truth  of  Jesus. 

I  remember  that  when  I  was  a  boy  at  school,  there 
was  one  story  in  our  reading-book,  which  I  never 
could  read  without  crying  outright.  It  was  not  that 
I  merely  whimpered  a  little,  for  I  used  regularly, 
when  that  story  came  round,  to  break  entirely  down 
before  it  was  finished,  so  that  I  could  not  read  a 
word,  thereby  making  a  spectacle  of  myself,  to  the 
amusement  of  some  of  my  less  sentimental  play- 
mates. So,  as  I  did  not  relish  being  laughed  at,  any 
more  than  boys  usually  do,  I  generally  devised  some 


LOYALTY.  143 


excuse  for  staying  at  home  whenever  that  piece  was 
in  the  lesson.  It  was  the  story  of  a  dog,  and  though 
many  of  your  parents  may  remember  it,  I  think  it 
may  be  new  to  most  of  you.  As  it  illustrates  what 
it  is  to  be  faithful  unto  death,  I  will  relate  it  as  nearly 
as  I  can  call  it  to  mind. 

A  traveller  was  taking  a  long  journey  upon  horse- 
back, attended  only  by  a  very  affectionate  and 
intelligent  dog.  He  carried  with  him  a  little  bag 
of  gold,  with  which  to  buy  food  for  himself  and  his 
animals  whenever  he  came  to  a  town.  But  as  his 
way  led  him  for  long  distances  over  a  lonely  road,  he 
had  pistols  to  defend  himself  from  robbers,  and  a  bag 
in  which  to  store  food  for  himself  and  his  dog;  while 
his  horse  had  often  to  make  his  dinner  upon  the 
grass  w^hich  grew  by  the  roadside. 

One  noontime  he  dismounted,  and  after  unsaddling 
his  horse,  in  order  that  the  poor  beast  might  get  as 
much  rest  as  possible,  he  partook  of  his  luncheon, 
and  calling  his  dog  to  guard  him,  lay  down  in  the 
shade  and  fell  fast  asleep.  When  he  awoke,  the  sun 
was  already  low  in  the  heavens,  and  as  he  had  far  to 
•go  before  reaching  a  sleeping-place,  he  made  great 
haste  to  gather  up  his  baggage,  re-saddle  his  horse 
and  continue  his  way.  For  the  first  few  miles  he 
rode  at  such  a  pace  that  he  did  not  notice  the 
absence  of  his  dog;  but  as  he  drew  rein  to  ascend  a 
hill  he  found  that  he  was  gone,  and  stopped  to  call 


T44 


SUNDAY  sroniES. 


him.  At  length  he  saw  him  coming  far  in  the 
distance,  and  so  resumed  his  journey.  Very  soon 
the  dog  overtook  his  master,  and  at  once  began  to 
act  very  strangely,  for  he  would  stand  in  the  way 
before  him  barking  most  furiously,  so  that  the  horse 
was  frightened  and  did  not  like  to  go  on.  And  when 
the  traveller  would  not  be  turned  aside,  but  com- 
pelled his  horse  to  go  forward,  the  dog  ran  by  his 
side,  still  barking,  and  caught  at  the  stirrups  as 
though  to  hold  him  back. 

Now  the  man  was  already  vexed  from  having  lost 
so  much  time,  and  was  very  impatient  with  what  he 
at  first  considered  his  dog's  playfulness.  So  he  bade 
him  sharply,  "be  quiet,"  and  when  he  found  that  his 
command  was  not  in  the  least  obeyed,  grew  angry 
and  gave  him  a  severe  blow  with  his  whip.  But  the 
dog  continued  his  former  movements,  and  his  master, 
now  in  a  towering  passion,  began  to  imagine  that  the 
brute  was  mad  ;  'so  without  further  consideration,  he 
drew  one  of  his  pistols  and  shot  him.  The  poor  dog 
uttered  a  piteous  cry,  and  instantly  turned  about  and 
ran  back  toward  the  resting  place. 

As  for  the  traveller,  he  muttered  to  himself  some 
justification  of  his  act,  as  angry  people  always  will, 
when  they  have  done  something  hastily  which  their 
conscience  does  not  approve,  replaced  his  pistol,  and 
once  more  rode  on.  He  had  not  gone  far,  however, 
when  he  accidentally  discovered  that  his  bag  of  gold 


LOYALTY 


45 


was  missing.  Then  at  once  it  flashed  upon  him  that 
in  the  hurry  of  starting  after  his  nap,  he  had  in  some 
way  dropped  it;  that  the  dog  had  noticed  it,  and 
stayed  for  a  while  to  guard  the  treasure,  and  that  he 
had  only  been  endeavoring  to  attract  his  master's 
attention  to  his  loss,  and  induce  him  to  turn  back 
again. 

Then  indeed  he  was  deeply  concerned,  not  only 
for  the  safety  of  his  bag,  but  for  the  life  of  the  poor 
creature,  which  he  had  so  hastily  attacked.  Back- 
ward he  rode  with  all  speed,  and  spots  of  blood  along 
the  roadside  here  and  there,  told  him  that  the  dog 
was  still  before  him.  As  he  drew  near  the  place 
where  he  hoped  to  find  his  money,  he  discovered 
the  faithful  animal  stretched  upon  the  ground,  and 
although  unable  to  rise,  the  dog  expressed  his  joy  at 
his  master's  coming,  by  barks  and  whines.  Upon  a 
nearer  approach  he  saw  the  bag  of  gold  where  he 
had  dropped  it.  But  all  his  thought  then,  was  to  save 
the  life  of  the  dumb  servant,  who  had  returned  to 
guard  his  master's  property,  after  that  master  had  so 
cruelly  wronged  him.  But  it  was  too  late.  As  the 
traveller  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  the  dog,  with 
one  last  effort,  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  as  his 
master's  hand  was  stretched  out  to  him,  that  hand 
which  had  given  him  his  death-wound,  he  had  just 
sufficient  strength  to  kiss  it  with  all  his  old  affection,. 
and  fall  back  dead. 
19 


146  SUN]) AY   STORIES. 

Faithful  unto  death,  surely  ought  to  have  been 
written  over  his  grave,  if  ever  man  deserved  to  have 
it  inscribed  upon  his  tombstone.  To  be  faithful  is 
simply  to  do  one's  duty ;  the  work  which  God,  our 
Master,  has  appointed  us  to  do.  This  poor  dog  knew 
it  to  be  his  duty  to  guard  his  master's  property;  and 
though  his  master  distrusted  him,  and  even  shot  him 
because  he  supposed  he  was  no  longer  faithful  to  his 
trust,  still  returned  to  do  his  duty  while  life  lasted. 
So  we  are  faithful  unto  death,  if  we  continue  our 
work,  notwithstanding  dangers  and  trials,  just  as  we 
would  if  the  way  were  all  pleasant. 

Telling  you  one  bit  of  my  schoolboy  experience, 
brings  another  to  my  mind,  which  may  help  you  to 
see  what  I  mean.  Near  the  country  school-house 
where  I  learned  to  read  and  write  and  cipher,  was  a 
large  pond,  which  in  the  winter  furnished  capital 
skating.  Besides  this,  men  used  to  come  with  teams 
when  the  ice  was  very  thick,  to  fish  through  it. 
They  would  cut  a  line  of  holes,  at  a  little  distance 
apart,  across  the  pond.  A  man  was  stationed  at 
each  of  these  holes,  bending  down  so  that  he  could 
see  into  the  water  beneath,  and  armed  with  a  long 
pole,  at  the  end  of  which  were  large  iron  hooks. 
Then  the  sleighs  would  go  far  above,  and  drive  back 
and  forth  on  the  ice,  making  a  great  noise,  so  that 
the  fish  were  frightened,  and  dashing  down  past  the 
line  of  holes,  great  loads  of  them  were  hooked  out. 


LOYALTY 


147 


You  may  judge  that  this  pond  was  on  some  days  a 
great  attraction,  and  as  many  of  the  scholars  came 
for  miles  through  the  snow,  bringing  their  luncheon 
with  them,  so  soon  as  this  was  eaten,  they  took  their 
skates  and  hurried  off  to  spend  their  nooning  upon 
the  ice. 

Now  it  was  but  natural,  that  being  boys,  they 
should  be  in  no  hurry  to  get  back  to  the  hot  school- 
room and  their  books  ;  so  that  sometimes  stragglers 
from  the  pond  would  be  coming  in  at  all  hours  of  the 
afternoon.  This,  of  course,  greatly  disturbed  the 
master  and  the  school,  and  he  soon  made  a  rule  that 
he  would  ring  two  bells  for  the  opening  of  school, 
allowing  sufficient  time  between  them  for  the  boys  to 
reach  the  school-house  from  the  pond.  At  the  first 
they  were  to  start,  and  at  the  second  they  must  be 
in  their  places.  But  the  very  next  day  a  conspiracy 
was  formed  by  the  large  boys,  which  the  smaller  ones 
were  compelled,  under  fear  of  dire  pains  and  penal- 
ties, to  join  —  a  conspiracy  to  remain  upon  the  ice  as 
long  as  they  pleased,  and  go' back  to  the  school-room 
in  a  body. 

The  expectation  of  course  was  that  a  fault  com- 
mitted by  half  the  school,  would  not  be  punished 
very  severely,  if  at  all.  There  was  one  of  the 
smaller  boys,  however,  (I  am  sorry  to  say  it  was  not 
I,)  who  resolved  that  he  would  manage  to  slip  away 
when  the  bell  rang,  and  obey  the  call. 


148  SUNDAY    STORIES. 

Now  perhaps  some  of  you  may  think  it  a  very 
mean  resolution.  But  if  you  will  consider  a  moment, 
you  will  see  that  he  was  brave,  and  not  cowardly. 
The  master's  ferule,  bad  as  it  was,  was  nothing  in 
comparison  with  what  he  had  to  expect  from  those 
tyrants,  the  big  boys,  if  he  offended  them.  It  was 
simply  that  he  respected  and  loved  his  teacher,  that 
he  thought  the  others  were  wrong,  and  that  he 
resolved  to  do  what  was  right,  no  matter  how  much 
it  might  cost. 

So,  as  his  fellows  were  all  in  the  midst  of  a  game, 
when  the  bell  rang,  he  contrived  to  slip  behind  a 
little  promontory,  take  off  his  skates  and  start  for 
school,  without  being  missed.  He  did  not  get  far, 
however,  before  he  was  captured  by  one  of  the  older 
scholars,  who,  although  not  in  school  that  day,  knew 
what  was  going  forward,  and  at  once,  perceiving  that 
he  had  captured  a  deserter,  treated  him,  to  several 
dips  in  a  snowdrift.  To  be  brief,  he  detained  and 
tormented  the  little  fellow  till  he  thought  he  would 
be  late  enough  at  school  to  get  a  whipping,  and  then 
let  him  go.  But  before  he  could  find  his  skates  and 
his  hat,  and  get  himself  brushed  clean  of  snow,  the 
others  had  finished  their  play  and  set  out  for  school 
by  another  way.  So  that  he  was  there  only  in  time 
to  march  in  with  the  last  of  the  stragglers,  who,  as 
they  had  not  noticed  his  absence,  supposed  that  he 
had  been  with  them  all  the  while. 


LOYALTY.  149 


Now,  the  boys  had  taken  counsel  without  knowl- 
edge, when  they  imagined  that  the  master  would  not 
punish  all  so  severely  as  one  or  two.  He  wore  a 
threatening  frown  as  the  young  rebels  came  in,  and 
when  he  had  dismissed  the  class  with  which  he  was 
engaged,  the  whole  of  them  were  called  up  to  give  an 
account  of  themselves.  No  one  had  anything  to  say 
save  the  one  boy  who  had  tried  to  obey  the  rules  of 
the  school,  and  he  told  the  story  of  his  detention. 
But  all  the  rest  cried  out  that  it  wasn't  true,  and  the 
master  was  forced  to  conclude  that  he  had  told  a 
falsehood,  for  the  sake  of  escaping  punishment. 
Then,  beginning  at  the  head  of  the  line,  the  first 
boy  was  bidden  to  hold  out  his  hand,  and  once,  twice, 
thrice  and  again  the  ruler  descended  upon  it. 

The  heavy  oak  ruler  was  not  something  merely 
to  look  at  in  those  days,  but  every  time  it  came  down 
upon  the  open  palm  the  culprit  was  forced  to  cry  out 
with  pain,  and  went  to  his  seat  with  a  hand  that  felt 
as  if  it  had  been  under  a  sledge-hammer.  Down 
the  line  the  schoolmaster  came,  and  the  groans  and 
lamentations  increased,  until  he  reached  the  scholar 
who,  alone  of  them  all,  did  not  deserve  punishment. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  it  hurt  the  master  as  much  as 
the  boy,  for  there  had  been  a  genuine  affection  be- 
tween them.  But  he  would  not  show  partiality,  and 
his  blows  were  just  as  heavy  as  before.  The  boy  set 
his  teeth  hard,  but  uttered   not  a  sound,   nor  did  a 


^5° 


SUNDAY    STORIES. 


single  tear  spring  to  his  eye,  until  the  teacher  bade 
him  hold  out  his  other  hand  and  take  double  punish- 
ment, because  he  had  told  a  lie.  The  injustice  of 
that  broke  him  down,  and  he  went  to  his  seat  sob- 
bing as  though  his  heart  would  break. 

Now  I  want  you  boys  to  stop  a  moment  and  think 
what  you  would  have  done  in  his  place.  Would  you 
have  hated  that  teacher,  and  stopped  trying  to  ob- 
serve his  rules  and  do  your  duty  ?  If  so,  you  would 
have  been  of  meaner  spirit  than  the  dog  I  have  told 
you  of,  and  far  less  faithful  than  this  boy  was.  For, 
although  he  could  not  establish  his  innocence,  be- 
cause the  one  who  was  at  fault  would  not  confess, 
through  fear  of  a  whipping,  he  went  on  as  before,  as 
studious,  attentive  and  obedient  as  ever. 

After  the  matter  had  been  partially  forgotten,  the 
big  boy  made  some  boasts  to  his  companions  of  what 
he  had  done,  so  that  finally,  though  not  until  the  very 
end  of  the  term,  the  truth  reached  the  master's  ears ; 
and  then,  though  he  could  not  take  back  the  punish- 
ment he  had  given,  he  cleared  the  boy's  character  of 
the  charge  of  falsehood  before  the  whole  school. 

You  children  will  find,  as  you  grow  older  —  if  you 
have  not  already  discovered  —  that  it  is  not  always 
agreeable  to  do  one's  duty,  but  that  it  sometimes 
causes  one  to  suffer  great  injustice.  Jesus  told  His 
disciples  that  simply  for  speaking  His  truth  they 
would  be  made  to  suffer  terrible  persecutions,  and  so 


LOYALTY.  151 


it  proved.  You  may  think  that  if  you  do  right,  you 
ought  to  be  the  more  respected  and  loved  by  your 
fellows ;  but  there  may  be  times  when  others  will 
hate  you,  and  say  evil  things  against  you,  if  you  try 
harder  than  they  to  observe  the  law  of  God. 

You  may  ask,  can  God  be  deceived,  then,  as  the 
traveller  and  the  schoolmaster  were  .?  And  does  He 
punish  us  when  we  are  innocent  ?  You  are  to  be- 
lieve just  the  opposite  of  this  ;  you  are  to  believe 
that,  however  men  may  unjustly  suspect  or  accuse 
you  of  wrong,  God  sees  the  right,  and  will  take  care 
that  in  the  end  you  shall  be  much  better  off  for  hav- 
ing done  your  duty. 

Think  which  you  would  rather  have  been,  —  the 
boy  who,  by  brute  force,  had  caused  another  to  suffer 
in  body  and  mind,  and  who  must  forever  carry  with 
him  a  remembrance  of  the  wrong  he  had  done  —  or 
the  boy  who,  though  under  a  cloud  for  a  time,  had  all 
the  while  his  own  conscience  to  approve  him,  and 
finally  won  all  the  more  esteem,  because  he  held  to 
his  duty  when  it  cost  something. 

Depend  upon  it,  children,  that  they  who  are  faith- 
ful until  death  will  always  gain  by  it  in  the  end,  both 
on  earth  and  in  heaven. 

I  want,  secondly,  to  show  you  in  what  ways  you 
may  be  faithful.  I  can  only  say  a  few  words,  for  I 
would  not  attempt  to  tell  you  all  the  ways,  but 
only  to  show  you  that  you  can  find  plenty  of  occa- 


1^2  SUNDAY   S TOBIES. 

sions,  if  you  seek  them,  for  being  faithful  to  the 
truth,  as  Jesus  taught  it,  when  for  the  time  being 
it  may  cost  you  pain. 

You  boys,  when  some  one  has  injured  you,  and 
you  are  smarting  under  the  sense  of  wrong,  will 
probably  feel  like  paying  it  back  in  the  same  coin  — 
blow  for  blow,  hard  words  for  hard  words.  But  you 
may  remember  that  Jesus  said,  "  Overcome  evil  with 
good ; "  still,  though  you  may  feel,  what  is  true,  that  it 
is  far  nobler  to  punish  a  wrong  by  scorning  to  notice 
it,  than  by  descending  to  its  own  level  and  doing  the 
same  thing  in  return  ;  still,  your  playmates,  some  of 
them,  may  call  you  coward  if  you  undertake  to  disarm 
your  enemy  by  being  kind  and  courteous. 

I  know  that  nothing  hurts  a  boy  more  than  to  call 
him  a  coward  ;  but  if  you  will  bear  the  taunt,  rather 
than  degrade  yourselves,  that  is  being  faithful  to  the 
truth  of  Jesus,  and  will  surely  win  for  you  in  the 
end.  If  some  vile  boy  should  throw  mud  at  you, 
would  not  you  be  obliged  to  get  into  the  mud,  and  to 
soil  your  hands,  if  you  threw  it  back  ?  So,  whoever 
gives  you  a  blow  or  a  foul  word  soils  his  soul,  and  if 
you  give  it  back  again  you  soil  your  soul.  Whatever 
may  be  the  satisfaction  you  may  feel  in  beating  your 
enemy  at  his  own  game,  it  will  not  pay  you  to  de- 
grade yourself  in  doing  so. 

You  girls,  although  you  never  fight  with  your 
hands,  feel  sometimes  tempted,  I  dare  say,  to  do  it 


LOYALTY.  1^3 


with  your  tongues  ;  and  so  the  same  lesson  is  for 
you,  that  no  matter  what  struggle  it  may  cost,  it  is 
better  to  be  faithful  to  the  precepts  which  Jesus 
expects  you  to  follow.  I  am  not  so  well  acquainted, 
of  course,  with  the  experience  of  girls  as  of  boys  ; 
but  I  am  sure  that  there  are  many  temptations  which 
allure  you,  for  the  sake  of  some  present  ease  or 
advantage,  to  forsake  what  Jesus  and  your  own  heart 
tells  you  to  be  your  duty.  But  remember  always 
how  much  nobler  it  is  to  remain  faithful ;  how  much 
brighter  and  happier  your  lives  will  be  after  the 
momentary  self-denial  is  made,  than  if  you  had  always 
to  carry  with  you  the  consciousness  of  having  acted 
a  mean,  ignoble  part.  Remember,  also,  that  God  is 
watching  all  those  who  profess  to  believe  in  and  fol- 
low His  truth,  and  that  He  only  promises  the  crown 
of  life  to  such  as  are  faithful,  even  unto  death. 


XII. 
HOW    HARD   IT   IS   TO   BE   GOOD. 


Take  up  the  cross  and  follow  me. — Mark  x.  21. 

'^  TT  IS  SO  hard  to  be  good,"  said  a  little  girl,  half 
to  herself  and  half  to  her  brother,  with  whom 
she  was  at  play.  ''  It  is  so  very  hard  to  be  good,  and 
I  don't  see  any  use  in  it." 

She  possessed  some  little  temper,  and  had  recently 
been  chidden  by  her  mother  for  an  outburst  of  pas- 
sion. The  present  trouble  was  that  she  had  been 
trying  to  build  a  very  complicated  house  of  blocks, 
which  would  tumble  over  just  as  she  had  almost  com- 
pleted it.  At  last  her  patience  gave  out,  and,  seizing 
a  handful  of  blocks,  she  was  in  the  act  of  flinging 
them  angrily  across  the  room,  when  her  mother's 
rebuke  came  to  her  mind.  The  remembrance  at 
once  stopped  her  hand,  and  provoked  the  petulant 
exclamation,  ''It  is  so  hard  to  be  good!  No,  I  don't 
see  any  use  in  it,  and  you  needn't  look  so  shocked 
about  it,  either,"  said  she,  turning  somewhat  fiercely 
upon  her  brother. 

In  truth,  that  young  gentleman's  face  bore  evi- 
dence of  some  dismay.  At  Sunday  School,  the  day 
before,  he  had  heard  for  the  first   time  the  story  of 


HOW  HARD   IT  IS    TO   BE   GOOD. 


155 


certain  children  who  were  devoured  by  bears  because 
they  had  mocked  a  prophet ;  and,  as  he  had  op  sev- 
eral occasions  been  guilty  of  irreverence  toward  his 
superiors,  the  story  had  made  a  great  impression  on 
his  mind. 

At  this  very  moment  the  bears  were  in  his  thought, 
and  he  glanced  rather  nervously  at  the  door,  as  though 
fearing  that  his  sister's  wickedness  might  provoke 
their  appearance. 

The  door  was  shut,  however,  and,  gathering  cour- 
age, he  replied,  ''No  use  in  it  .^  Think  of  "  —  think 
of  the  bears,  he  was  going  to  say,  but,  remembering 
that  his  sister  had  already  laughed  at  that  story,  he 
did  not  finish  the  sentence.  "Well,"  said  the  girl, 
**  maybe  there  is  some  use,  but  I  don't  see  much,  and 
I  know  it  is  dreadfully  disagreeable  sometimes.  I 
should  like  to  be  just  as  wicked  as  I  wanted  to  for 
once,  and  see  how  it  would  seem." 

If  her  brother  had  been  shocked  by  the  previous 
speech,  he  was  thunderstruck  at  this.  There  was  at 
this  moment  a  slight  rustling  at  the  door,  and  he 
was  certain  that  the  bears  had  come.  But  the  door 
opened,  and,  to  his  relief,  nothing  more  blood-thirsty 
than  his  mother  entered. 

The  look  upon  her  face,  however,  somewhat 
thoughtful  and  grave,  told  the  children  that  she  had 
overheard  what  had  been  said.  Calling  them  to  her 
side,  she  endeavored  to  show  them  of  what  use  it  is 


156  SUNDAY   STORIES. 

to  try  to  be  good  ;  and  what  she  said  to  them  is  the 
story  which  I  am  about  to  tell  you. 

There  was  once  a  little  brook,  which  made  its 
way  down  a  steep  and  high  mountain-side ;  running 
amidst  great  rocks ;  dashing'over  frightful  precipices ; 
murmuring  and  weeping  through  deep  ravines,  where 
the  sun  never  reached  it.  Working  its  way  through 
tangled  masses  of  driftwood,  losing  itself  under  piles 
of  fallen  trees,  in  many  ways  tormented  and  hin- 
dered, the  poor  brook  was  kept  fuming  and  fret- 
ting, and  lashed  into  white  foam.  And,  as  often  as 
it  dashed  against  the  rocks,  making  its  frothing  spray 
fly  into  the  air,  or  when  it  fell  exhausted  into  some 
deep,  dark  pool,  from  the  edge  of  an  overhanging 
cliff,  ''  Oh,  dear !  "  said  the  brook,  "  this  is  a  very 
hard  life,  and  I  should  like  to  know  what  it  amounts 
to.  For  my  part,  I  should  be  glad  to  get  out  of  this 
narrow  zig-zag  way,  which  well  nigh  drives  me  to 
desperation,  and  find  a  spot  where  I  needn't  do  any- 
thing unless  I  have  a  mind." 

At  last  one  day,  when  near  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain as  it  was  about  leaping  over  a  ledge  of  rocks, 
the  brook  caught  sight  of  a  marsh  at  some  little  dis- 
tance below  ;  and  it  seemed  so  quiet  and  contented, 
and  reflected  the  sun  in  such  a  beautiful  way  that 
the  brook  said,  "  Now,  when  I  get  there  I  shall  be 
happy." 

So  it  bounded  hopefully  along.      But  as  it  began  to 


7/0 ir  HARD   ir  IS    TO   BE    GOOD.  i^y 

draw  near  the  marsh,  strange  sounds  filled  the  air. 
The  screams  of  hawks  and  crows  and  various  birds 
of  prey,  and  the  hoarse  croak  of  the  frogs,  were 
louder  than  its  own  noise,  and  began  to  fill  it  with 
fright  As  it  came  nearer  and  nearer,  the  earth  be- 
came a  dirty  black  mud  ;  in  place  of  the  clean  and 
shining  rocks,  its  bed  was  a  mass  of  slime  and  ooze. 
Then,  as  its  motion  grew  slower,  it  found  itself  shad- 
owed by  tall  reeds ;  and  through  its  own  bright 
waters,  now  dark  with  mud  and  filth,  all  manner  of 
ugly  reptiles  crawled. 

Long  days  did  the  brook  lie  there  sweltering  in 
the  sun,  dreaming  of  its  mountain  course,  in  which, 
in  spite  of  hard  knocks,  it  had  been  happy,  and 
scarcely  knowing  that  it  moved  at  all,  except  as  from 
time  to  time  it  noticed  that  it  had  changed  its  place. 

How  bitterly  did  it  repent  that  it  had  even  wished 
to  find  such  a  place,  and  with  what  earnest  longing 
did  it  pray  to  be  delivered. 

But  the  sorrows  of  the  brook  drew  to  a  close,  for 
there  was  a  way  out  of  the  marsh,  and  at  length  the 
brook  found  it.  Then,  also,  was  it  delivered  from 
its  scrambles  among  the  rocks,  for  it  found  a  smooth 
and  even  road  of  pebbles,  along  which  it  ran  singing 
with  quiet  joy,  through  miles  of  meadows,  bordered 
by  banks  of  flowers,  and  overlooked  by  stately  trees, 
until,  after  a  whole  summer's  journey,  it  ran  into  the 
sea.  Its  way  down  the  mountain  side  was  hard,  but 
did  it  not  repay  the  brook  to  keep  on  ? 


158  SUNDAY   STORIES. 

*  *  *  *  *  jje 

There  were  once  two  young  birds  hatched  and 
reared  in  the  same  nest,  in  whose  breasts  the  ambi- 
tion to  fly  began  to  be  so  strong  that,  one  morning 
after  their  parents  had  gone  out  to  make  some  calls, 
they  resolved  upon  the  attempt. 

So  they  crawled  to  the  edge  of  the  nest,  where 
they  balanced  themselves  as  well  as  they  were  able ; 
their  little  tails  bobbing  up  and  down  ;  their  slender 
feet  making  a  convulsive  clutch  now  and  then,  to 
avoid  tumbling  over. 

There  they  stood  a  long  time,  swaying  back  and 
forth,  urging  each  other  to  make  the  first  attempt, 
until  at  length  the  bolder  of  the  two,  after  a  great 
deal  of  useless  flapping  of  his  wings,  and  several 
false  starts,  did  really  make  a  little  hop  into  the  air 
and  fly  for  dear  life.  It  was  very  feeble  flying,  how- 
ever, for  he  went  downward  about  as  fast  as  onward, 
and  regained  his  feet  rather  clumsily  in  the  deep 
grass  at  the  foot  of  the  tree. 

His  brother,  seeing  that  he  was  not  hurt,  roused 
his  own  courage,  and  a  moment  afterward  both  stood 
panting,  side  by  side,  upon  the  ground. 

''Well,"  said  one,  "that's  too  hard  work  for  me. 
Let  them  fly  that  wish  ;  I  shall  hereafter  be  quite 
content  to  walk."  Of  course,  his  brother  tried  to 
dissuade  him  from  this  foolish  conclusion,  but  all  in 
vain.     Worms  couldn't   be  found  up   in    the  air,   he 


HO]V  HARD  IT  IS    TO  BE   GOOD. 


^59 


said,  and  what  was  the  use  of  mounting  up  into  the 
sky,  if  there  was  nothing  there  to  eat.  He  thought 
it  might  be  easy  to  fly  ;  it  certainly  looked  so  ;  but 
now  that  he  had  discovered  how  hard  work  it  was,  no 
more  of  it  for  him  ;  there  wasn't  any  use  in  it. 

So,  although  the  parent  birds  came  back,  and  grew 
very  earnest  in  their  entreaties  that  he  would  try  to 
do  as  other  birds  did,  and  although  his  brother,  mak- 
ing constant  trial,  found  that  his  wings  grew  stronger 
and  would  carry  him  easier  and  to  greater  distances 
— notwithstanding  all  this,  the  mean-spirited  little 
fellow  went  poking  about  in  the  deep  grass  all  day 
long  looking  for  worms;  and,  indeed,  he  found  so 
many  before  nightfall,  that  the  strongest  pair  of 
wings  would  hardly  have  supported  him. 

What  was  the  consequence  ?  A  very  sad  one. 
For  while  the  bird  who  had  kept  trying  to  fly  was 
able  at  sunset  to  get  back  to  the  nest,  the  other  was 
obliged  to  spend  the  night  upon  the  ground,  and 
when  morning  came  not  so  much  as  a  feather  of  him 
was  left.  His  family  surmised  that  he  had  been  car- 
ried off  by  a  cat ;  but  at  any  rate,  nothing  more  was 
ever  seen  of  him. 

Now,  just  as  it  was  well  for  the  brook  to  keep  on 
its  way,  though  it  was  so  trying  —  just  as  it  was  of 
use  for  the  young  bird  to  learn  to  fly,  though  it  was 
hard  work  —  so  it  is  worth  the  while  of  children  to 
try  to  be  good,  even  though  it  costs  them  many 
struggles. 


i6o  SUNDAY    SrOBIES. 

To  allow  oneself  to  be  wicked  is  to  be  lazy,  to 
dislike  work  and  sigh  for  such  a  good  time  in  doing- 
nothing  as  the  brook  wanted  ;  and  which,  when  it 
was  found  in  the  swamp,  proved  worse  than  anything 
it  had  known. 

It  is  hard  to  be  good,  just  as  it  is  hard  to  get 
knowledge ;  but  in  the  end  it  will  repay  you  for  all 
your  toil.  How  much  it  will  be  worth  in  the  end, 
perhaps  you  will  get  a  hint  from  the  following  story. 

There  was  once  a  child  to  whom  an  angel  appeared 
in  a  dream,  and  said,  *'  I  am  sent  to  you  from  a  great 
King." 

*' Who  is  this  King.?"  said  the  child. 

*'It  is  He,"  replied  the  angel,  "who  made  the 
earth,  and  who  gave  you  life ;  who  has  watched  over 
you  when  you  have  not  known  it,  and  who  now  wants 
you  to  try  to  take  care  of  yourself." 

*'  Why  does  He  want  this  of  me  .?  "  again  asked  the 
child. 

''That  He  may  know  how  worthy  you  are  of  what 
He  has  already  done  for  you,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  if  I  do  not  act  as  He  wishes  me,  what 
then  }  " 

"  Then  you  will  find  sorrows  and  troubles." 

"  How  can  I  know  what  He  would  have  me  do  "^ " 

"Listen,"  said  the  angel.  "There  was  once  a 
man  on  earth  who  spent  all  his  life  in  doing  good  to 
others,  and  whose  enemies  killed  him  because  he  was 


HO]V  TIAnD  IT  IS    TO  BE   GOOD.  i6i 

SO  noble.  This  man  said  to  his  followers,  '  Take  up 
the  cross  and  follow  me.'  So  I  say,  take  up  your 
cross  and  follow  him."  And  with  these  words  the 
angel  vanished. 

When  the  child  awoke,  these  words  were  in  her 
mind  : 

"  Take  up  the  cross  and  follow  me." 

But  they  were  a  riddle  to  her  and  she  knew  not 
what  they  meant. 

In  her  work  and  in  her  play  that  day  and  many 
days  after,  they  continually  rose  in  her  memory,  and 
long  she  puzzled  in  vain  to  find  out  what  meaning 
they  could  have  for  her.  And  so  day  by  day,  as  the 
vision  haunted  her,  the  child  grew  sad  and  thought- 
ful. The  feeling  grew  upon  her  that  she  ought  to  do 
something  she  was  not  doing  ;  but  because  she  did 
not  know  what  that  something  was,  she  tried  to  do 
nothing  except  to  get  through  with  the  tasks  which 
others  gave  her. 

She  had  happy  moods,  and  she  had  miserable 
moods,  but,  sad  to  say,  the  dark  hours  grew  longer, . 
and  the  bright  ones  fewer  and  shorter.  She  became 
cross  and  peevish,  was  easily  angered,  said  very 
harsh  and  bitter  things,  and  at  times  seemed  to  hate 
everybody  and  everything  that  lived. 

One  night  the  angel  came  to  her  again,  and  said, . 
"Come  with  me."  So  they  went  out  into  the  fields,, 
and  found  it  shining  day.     Presently  they  came  to  a. 

20 


1 62  SUNDAY   SrOIUES. 

garden,  and  entering,  the  angel  conducted  her  to  one 
corner,  where  there  was  a  mass  of  briars  and  thistles, 
much  higher  than  her  head,  and  looking  as  ugly  and 
forbidding  as  you  can  imagine. 

The  child  in  her  dream  was  just  thinking  of  that 
bramble-bush  into  which  a  certain  wise  man  jumped 
and  scratched  out  both  his  eyes, —  that  if  he  had 
jumped  into  t/iis  pile  of  briars,  probably  his  ears  and 
his  nose  would'have  gone  also. 

The  angel,  pushing  them  aside,  disclosed  one  little 
sickly  rosebush,  feebly  holding  up  one  faded  blossom, 
where  a  bit  of  sunshine  stole  through  its  prison-bars, 
but  evidently  exhausted  and  dying  for  want  of  air 
and  light. 

"  These  briars  and  thistles  must  be  cleared  away," 
said  the  angel,  "before  the  rose  can  live."  So 
saying  he  again  vanished. 

The  child  was  passionately  fond  of  flowers,  and 
eagerly  set  to  work  to  liberate  the  rose.  She  toiled 
and  toiled,  as  it  seemed  to  her  many  hours,  but  in  the 
end  she  found  her  hands  so  torn  and  bleeding,  that 
she  could  no  longer  use  them,  her  dress  in  rags,  and 
still  the  mass  of  ugly  weeds  before  her,  upon  which 
she  had  scarcely  made  an  impression. 

What  could  she  do  but  sit  down  and  cry  }  And 
cry  she  did,  not  merely  in  her  dream,  but  in  reality, 
for  she  awoke  sobbing  violently,  and  her  pillow  was 
wet  with  tears.  It  was  only  a  dream,  but  she  thought 
she  understood  the  lesson. 

• 


UOW  HARD   IT  IS    TO   BE    GOOD.  163 

This  sickly  rose  was  her  own  better  nature,  which 
she  had  allowed  to  be  smothered  with  weeds.  She 
was  unhappy  because  she  was  like  this  rose,  shut  out 
from  the  light,  and  wounded  with  thorns.  It  was 
taking"  up  her  cross,  to  fight  down  these  weeds  of 
evil,  and  this  she  would  do  without  delay.  So  at  this 
task  she  toiled  and  toiled.  In  spite  of  the  pain  and 
the  struggle  which  it  cost,  she  persevered  until  sum- 
mer had  turned  into  winter,'  winter  into  summer 
again,  and  another  birthday  had  come  round. 

On  this  day  she  made  a  party  for  her  young 
friends,  which  passed  off  very  miserably  indeed. 
Something  went  wrong  at  the  outset,  and  before  the 
day  was  done,  she  had  seriously  quarrelled  wdth 
about  half  her  guests.  All  her  ugly  and  discontented 
feelings  came  back  to  her,  and  she  went  to  sleep  that 
night  remembering  the  dream,  and  thinking  that 
though  she  had  worked  at  the  briars  a  whole  year, 
the  rose  was  no  better  off. 

It  was  very  discouraging.  First  she  had  not  tried 
to  be  good ;  and  she  had  found  herself  with  a  very 
unhappy  disposition.  Then  she  had  tried,  but  she 
found  it  was  too  late,  and  now  everybody  would  hate 
her  always,  and  nobody  would  love  her. 

But  perhaps  the  angel  would  come  back  to  her 
once  more,  and  in  that  hope  she  fell  asleep.  The 
angel  did  visit  her,  and  this  time  she  was  struck  with 
the  great  love  and  pity  that  shone  in  his  face.     She 


1 64  SUNDAY  S TOBIES. 

noticed  too  that  on  his  forehead  were  scars,  as  if 
thorns  had  torn  the  flesh,  and  his  garment,  instead 
of  being  pure  white,  was  worn  and  soiled,  and 
covered  with  dust,  as  if  from  a  long  journey. 

*'  Take  up  your  cross  and  follow  me,"  he  said,  and 
the  child,  not  quite  understanding  him,  yet  rose  and 
followed. 

She  was  still  thinking  of  her  sins,  and  how  to  be 
rid  of  them,  whjen  the  angel  stooped  down  to  her  as 
she  walked  by  his  side,  and  folding  her  in  his  arms, 
said  :  "  So  you  could  not  clear  away  the  brambles,  my 
poor  child  ?  I  see,  I  see,  your  hands  are  sadly  torn." 

"Alas  !  they  were  so  many,"  replied  she. 

"They  were  very  many,"  said  the  angel,  "but  now 
learn  that  to  bear  your  cross,  is  not  to  fight  with  it. 
Think  no  more  about  your  sins,  though  they  are 
heavy  for  your  young  shoulders,  but  come  and  see 
what  I  shall  show  you." 

Then  all  at  once  they  were  in  the  midst  of  a  great 
city.  The  crowd  rushed  hurriedly  along,  pushing 
and  jostling  them,  as  they  strove  to  work  their  way 
through  the  noisy  streets.  Suddenly  they  turned 
aside  into  a  low  doorway,  and  mounted  up  and  up  the 
dirty,  creaking  stairs,  until  they  stood  in  a  rude 
garret,^  and  saw  before  them  a  poor  mother,  pressing 
to  her  bosom  her  dying  child. 

Its  pale  eyes  looked  up  to  her  with  a  feeble  smile, 
as  she  wildly  moaned  to  see  the  light  of  life  fade  out 


HOW  HARD  IT  IS   TO  BE  GOOD.  165 

of  them.  But  the  angel  stepped  forward, *and  took 
its  wasted  hand  in  his,  and  straightway  the  color 
came  back  to  its  poor  little  cheek.  Its  eye  kindled 
with  new  life,  and  as  the  angel  released  its  hand,  its 
arms,  a  moment  before  so  lifeless,  clasped  its  mother's 
neck  in  a  close  embrace.  She,  too  happy  to  speak, 
looked  her  gratitude,  and  so  they  left  her. 

They  went  into  many  sorrowing  homes,  and  stood 
by  many  a  bedside  of  pain,  but  always  when  they 
came  away  they  ieft  joy  behind  them. 

At  last  they  could  enter  no  more  dwellings,  for  the 
crowd  came  forth  to  meet  them.  The  sick  were 
brought  forth  upon  couches,  and  the  angel  healed 
them. 

Many  came  with  great  sorrow  and  anxiety  in  their 
faces.  But  he  looked  into  their  eyes,  spoke  to  them 
a  few  words  of  love  and  hope,  and  sent  them  away 
happy  and  comforted. 

Then  the  child  began  to  feel  a  great  desire  to  do 
as  the  angel  did.  At  first  she  did  not  believe  that 
she  could,  but  presently,  as  a  wan  and  wasted  little 
girl  crept  to  her  feet,  she  forgot  all  her  doubts,  and 
stretching  forth  her  hands,  took  the  girl  in  her  arms, 
and  kissed  her.  Instantly  her  love  drove  disease  out 
of  the  hunger-pinched  face,  and  she  was  answered 
with  a  kiss. 

Then  she  forgot  everything  else,  for  a  long  time, 
only  to  do  as  she  had  seen  the  angel  do. 


1 66  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

When  she  looked  around  again  he  was  gone,  but 
somehow  she  felt  that  he  was  over  her,  and  for  hours 
and  hours,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  she  kept  on,  feeling  a 
happiness  in  her  work  such  as  she  had  never  known 
before. 

At  last  she  woke  from  her  dream  to  find  it  broad 
day,  and  the  sun  shining  into  her  room.  Once  more 
her  pillow  was  wet  with  tears,  but  this  time  with 
tears  of  joy.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  lesson 
now.  Being  good  meant  doing  goocf ;  and  to  take  up 
the  cross,  was  to  bear  her  sins  and  trials  as  patiently 
as  she  could,  while  she  sought  for  ways  to  help  and 
comfort  those  about  her. 

After  this  she  was  a  happy  child ;  the  old  bad 
thoughts  and  feelings  would  sometimes  rise,  but  she 
always  knew  how  to  stop  them,  by  turning  her  atten- 
tion to  the  happiness  of  others.  This  is  how  she 
found  it  of  use  to  try  to  be  good. 

And  so,  children,  shall  we  all  find  that  it  is  worth 
all  that  it  can  cost,  never  to  cease  trying  to  do  good, 
for  it  is  the  only  way  to  the  highest  happiness. 


XIII. 
FIDELITY   IN    LITTLE   THINGS. 


He  that  is  faithful  in  that  which  is  least,  is  faithful  also  in  much. 

— Licke,  XV.  10. 

/^^NE  thing  which  troubles  children  not  a  little, 
and  which  troubles  some  people  all  through 
life,  is  a  failure  to  see  that  it  is  worth  while  to  be 
good  in  little  things,  and  a  desire  to  be  all  at  once 
very  noble  and  great.  They  want  their  blossoms  to 
become  all  at  once  full-grown  apples,  and  do  not  like 
to  wait  till  the  little,  hard,  sour  thing  has  time  to 
grow  and  ripen. 

They  read,  perhaps,  of  the  gentle  and  courageous 
knight,  who  long  ago  undertook  so  many  adventures 
to  help  the  needy  and  do  justice  to  those  who 
suffered  wrong ;  of  the  many  heroes  and  heroines  of 
both  ancient  and  modern  days,  whose  great  deeds 
will  make  them  famous  for  many  hundred  years  to 
come  ;  and  reading,  they  think,  "  How  I  should  like 
to  do  something  noble  and  brave  like  that."  They 
resolve  that  when  they  grow  up,  they  will  seek  out 
some  opportunity  of  proving  to  the  world  how  gener- 
ous and  noble  they  are,  so  that  the  world  may  put 
their  names  into  its  history  and  its  songs  ;  and  yet 


1 68  SUNDAY   STORIES. 

all  the  while  they  may  be  so  selfish  and  mean  in 
their  homes  and  among  their  playmates,  as  to  be 
generally  disliked. 

I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  that  many  children  are 
so  selfish  as  that.  But  I  want  you  to  see  that  one 
may  wish  to  be  very  noble,  and  yet  be  very  mean  ; 
because  we  all  of  us  have  a  feeling  sometimes,  when 
our  attention  is  called  to  the  many  little  ways  of 
being  unselfish,  thoughtful,  and  polite,  that  it  is  so 
small  a  way  of  being  good,  and  amounts  to  so  very 
little,  that  we  should  like  to  do  some  good  deed  which 
would  amount  to  something. 

I  want  you  to  see,  moreover,  that  every  one  is 
obliged  to  learn  by  little  and  little  to  be  brave  and 
kind  ;  so  that  after  all,  if  the  little  rules  of  conduct 
are  not  obeyed,  the  great  ones  will  not  be  minded 
either.  You  have  each  of  you  been  told  over  and 
over  again,  that  if  you  begin  by  telling  falsehoods 
and  doing  wrong  to  other  children,  you  will  grow  up 
to  be  shunned  of  men,  as  untruthful  and  unjust ;  and 
that  if  you  begin  by  doing  right  and  being  generous, 
you  will  grow  up  to  be  respected  and  loved.  And 
you  have  said,  "  Oh  !  of  course  I  know  that,"  and 
very  likely  have  forgotten  all  about  it  in  half  an  hour. 

Now  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  teach  you  what 
that  means,  so  truly,  that  you  may  never  forget  it, 
but  have  it  always  in  your  thought.  This  and  some- 
thing more  ;  that  if  you  are  ever  to  do  any  great  deed 


FIDELITY  IN  LITTLE   THINGS.  169 

■ #— 

like  those  you  read  about,  you  must  be  great  in  such 
ways  as  you  can,  even  now. 

You  may  be  sometime  placed  where  your  courage 
and  presence  of  mind  will  save  your  own  and 
hundreds  of  other  lives  ;  but  if  you  are  a  coward 
now,  you  will  be  a  coward  then,  and  the  opportunity 
to  do  a  noble  thing  will  be  lost  to  you. 

This  is  a  verse  of  Scripture  which  I  should  like  to 
have  you  remember  in  connection  with  this  subject. 
"  He  that  is  faithful  in  that  which  is  least,  is  faithful 
also  in  much  ;  and  he  that  is  unjust  in  the  least,  is 
unjust  also  in  much."  To  show  you  what  is  the 
meaning  in  this  text  that  I  wish  you  to  remember, 
let  me  tell  you  a  fable.  A  very  old  one,  it  is  true, 
but  I  will  tell  it  in  my  own  way  and  perhaps  you  may 
find  it  interesting.  It  shall  be  about  a  bee  and  a 
butterfly. 

The  bee  was  one  of  those  happy  and  cheerful  little 
things,  which  in  summer  goes  zig-zagging  over  the 
fields,  and  helps  to  make  that  delightful,  drowsy  hum 
which  fills  the  summer  air.  Not  one  of  those  great 
pompous  fellows  in  yellow  and  black,  whose  sole 
business  seems  to  be  to  fly  in  at  open  windows  and 
frighten  children  ;  but  a  plain  and  modest  little  bee, 
who  never  came  near  houses,  but  lived  altogether  in 
the  sunshine  and  annong  flowers. 

The  butterfly  was  a  gorgeous  creature  in  black  and 
gold,  who  might   be  a  fairy  prince   in   disguise,  and 


i^o  SUNDAY    STORIES. 

— » • 

who  was  continually  taking  little  airy,  purposeless 
flights,  or  sipping  daintily  and  leisurely  the  sweets  of 
the  flowers. 

The  two  had  never  met,  though  the  bee  had  often 
admired  from  a  distance  the  butterfly's  resplendent 
wings,  and  now  and  then,  when  she  felt  a  little 
romantic,  had  wondered  whether  he  would  take  any 
notice  of  such  a  homely  body  as  she.  But  one 
morning  it  chanced  that  as  the  butterfly  alighted 
upon  a  rose  which  looked  particularly  inviting,  the 
bee  was  just  creeping  out,  heavily  laden  with  honey, 
to  fly  away  to  her  hive.  You  may  suppose  her  small 
heart  was  all  in  a  flutter,  to  find  those  great  eyes 
suddenly  fixed  upon  her,  and  when  she  was  not  look- 
ing her  neatest  either,  but  was  in  quite  a  wretched 
plight  with  the  honey  which  she  had  accidentally 
smeared  upon  her  wings  and  body. 

So  she  made  as  much  haste  as  she  was  able,  to 
gather  up  her  sticky  feet  and  take  to  flight.  But  the 
butterfly  was  curious  and  detained  her  by  a  question. 
Fanning  himself  in  a  lordly  way,  with  his  beautiful 
v/ings,  and  looking  very  much  amused  at  the  nervous- 
ness of  the  poor  bee,  he  asked  her  what  she  did  with 
the  honey  which  she  had  stored  up  in  those  funny 
little  sacks  upon  her  thighs.  She  answered  timidly 
that  she  carried  it  home,  to  lay  up  against  the  coming 
winter.  And  when  he  questioned  her  further,  and 
she   found   him    really   a   sympathetic    listener,    she 


FIDELITY  IX  LITTLE   THINGS.  17 1 

opened  her  heart  to  him  and  told  him  readily  all 
about  the  queen  bee  whom  she  served,  the  drones 
who  would  not  work,  the  beautiful  way  iu  which  they 
constructed  the  honey-comb,  how  much  honey  they 
had  already  gathered,  and  how  much  more  they  hoped 
to  put  in  store  if  the  weather  continued  fine. 

So  flushed  and  confident  did  she  become  in  telling 
her  own  story,  that  when  she  had  finished  she  felt 
emboldened  to  ask,  "And  you,  sir,  do  you  have  no 
hive,  and  gather  no  honey?"  **  No,"  replied  the 
butterfly.  "  But  do  you  not  know  that  the  winter  is 
coming  on,  when  all  the  flowers  will  die.-*"  asked  the 
bee,  wonderingly.  The  butterfly  did  know  it  most 
assuredly,  but  he  was  good  enough  to  inform  the  bee 
that  she  was  very  foolish  and  superstitious  to  work  as 
though  the  winter  were  coming  to-morrow,  '*  For," 
said  he,  "  winter  is  yet  a  great  way  off.  There  wdll 
be  plenty  of  time  by  and  by  to  prepare  for  it,  and 
meantime  it  is  the  part  of  wisdom  to  enjoy  one's  self." 

"  But,"  persisted  the  bee,  *'  when  winter  does  come, 
you  have  no  hive  ;  what  will  you  do  .?  "  *'  Oh  !  with- 
out doubt  I  shall  find  a  shelter,"  said  the  butterfly, 
"  and  not  only  a  shelter,  but  plenty  of  food  already 
stored  up."  And  then  he  entered  into  a  long  argu- 
ment to  show  what  right  he  had  to  expect  that  the 
God  who  created  him,  would  take  care  that  all  his 
wants  were  supplied. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  "in  the  present  I  am  surrounded 


172 


SUNDAY   STOUIE."^. 


by  every  thing  which  can  gratify  my  tastes.  Every 
thing  is  beautiful.  I  am  continually  finding  some 
new  thing  to  delight  me,  and  as  for  food,  why  there 
are  oceans  of  it  running  to  waste.  Why  should  I 
doubt  the  future  ?  Will  not  the  Power  which  is 
so  wondrously  good  to  me  now,  take  care  of  me 
then  ? " 

He  even  went  so  far  in  his  discourse  as  to  accuse 
the  bee  of  want  of  faith  in  God,  because  she  was 
anxious  about  the  winter,  and  wanted  to  bestow  his 
pity  upon  her,  because  her  life  was  so  tied  down  to 
small  daily  duties,  that  she  could  not  go  out  in  search 
of  great  pleasures. 

Here,  however,  the  bee  interrupted  him,  for  she 
had  not  a  little  pride,  and  made  haste  to  assure  him 
that  she  should  accept  no  pity  for  doing  what  she 
felt  it  her  duty  to  do.  *'  And  do  you  not  think  then," 
she  added,  '*  that  God  meant  us  to  take  care  of 
ourselves,  and  instead  of  depending  wholly  upon  his 
bounty,  to  lay  up,  little  by  little,  stores  for  the 
future } "  But  to  this  the  butterfly  gave  no  other 
answer,  than  that  he  considered  it  a  very  petty 
business  to  be  engaged  always  in  providing  one's 
breakfast  and  dinner ;  and  as  for  him  he  minded 
greater  things,  believing  that  the  small  ones  would 
take  care  of  themselves.  And  so  saying,  he  spread 
his  wings  and  sailed  majestically  away. 

The  Bee  flew  thoughtfully  home,  so  absorbed  in 


FIDELITY  IN  LITTLE   THINGS. 


her  reflections,  that  she  several  times  wandered  from 
the  "  Bee-line,"  and  losing  her  way,  was  obliged  to 
stop  and  fly  about  in  a  circle  until  she  found  it  again. 

She  did  not  altogether  believe  what  the  Butterfly 
had  said,  but  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  heard 
the  like,  and  it  troubled  her  somewhat.  "  Can  it  be," 
she  thought,  "  that  I  am  foolish  to  work  so  busily  .'' 
Who  knows  but  if  I  were  to  leave  the  hive,  and  go 
off  seeking  my  fortune,  I  should  find,  as  he  said, 
some  great  store  of  the  sweetest  honey,  so  that  I 
should  not  need  to  gather  it  any  more  little  by  little, 
and  carry  it  so  far.  And  he  talks  so  fairly  too,  and 
has  sucH  lovely  wings.  Perhaps  if  I  should  ask  him, 
he  would  let  me  fly  away  with  him,  and  keep  near 
him.  Then  I  should  have  nothing  to  do  but  listen  to 
him,  and  see  always  new  and  splendid  things.  Oh  ! 
how  beautiful  that  would  be  !  " 

Still  she  could  not  quite  make  up  her  mind  to  take 
so  great  a  step,  and  so  she  went  on  from  day  to  day 
as  before,  only  that  always  a  vague  longing  and 
regret  filled  her  with  unrest,  and  sobered  her  happy 
song. 

All  the  rest  of  the  summer  she  had  less  heart  in 
her  work,  for  the  dream  of  pleasure  had  entered  into 
her  hitherto  contented  soul,  and  gathering  honey 
seemed  to  her,  as  the  butterfly  had  said,  a  very  petty 
business. 

Now   and    then   she   met  him   in   his    fli^ihts,  and 


174  SUNDAY   STORIES. 

longed  to  ask  him  if  he  had  yet  found  any  great 
treasure,  but  he  never  noticed  her.  He  had  evidently 
forgotten  all  about  her,  and  she  could  not  quite  sum- 
mon up  courage  to  address  him.  But  as  the  season 
wore  on  and  flowers  began  to  get  scarce,  she  noticed 
that  the  Butterfly  was  just  as  gay  and  idle  as  ever. 
She  could  no  longer  doubt  that  he  had  realized  all  his 
expectations,  and  felt  sure  that  all  her  work,  day  by 
day,  had  been  utterly  wasted. 

Then  indeed  she  felt  the  temptation  stronger  than 
ever  to  leave  her  home,  and  go  out  to  join  her  for- 
tunes with  his  ;  and  if  she  had  not  been  too  timid, 
she  would  have  done  so. 

The  truth  was  however  that  the  Butterfly  began  to 
feel  the  loss  of  a  breakfast,  now  and  then,  and, 
though  he  kept  up  his  fine  appearance,  to  doubt  if 
his  philosophy  had  been  entirely  sound.  He  thought 
about  the  future  as  little  as  possible,  but  that  could 
not  prevent  the  future  from  coming  on.  The  first 
frosty  nights  of  autumn  stiffened  him  sadly,  and  the 
want  of  food  weakened  his  spirits  as  much  as  his 
body,  so  that  finally  he  gave  up  in  despair  and  flut- 
tered down  under  a  leaf  to  wait  for  the  end. 

It  was  a  cold  and  cheerless  morning,  and  a  kind'  of 
numbness  came  upon  him,  from  which  he  was  sud- 
denly aroused  by  a  subdued  hum  which  went  slowly 
by.  Looking  up  he  caught  sight  of  his  little  friend 
the  Bee,  and   instantly  remembered   that  she    must 


FIDELITY  IN  'LITTLE   TIIIXGS.  175 

have  food  and  shelter,  enough  and  to  spare.  So 
because  his  pride  was  utterly  gone,  he  roused  all  his 
energies  to  follow  her  and  beg  enough  to  keep  life  in 
his  poor  body. 

The  Bee  flew  slowly,  for  she  was  thinking  of  the 
Butterfly,  whom  she  had  not  seen  now  for  some  time, 
and  thinking  that  he  must  have  gone  to  a  summer 
clime,  while  she  must  remain  shut  up  during  the 
long  dismal  winter. 

So,  nerved  by  the  strength  of  despair,  the  butter- 
fly managed  to  keep  her  in  sight,  until  at  last  he  saw 
her  alight  at  her  hive,  about  which  no  other  bees 
were  stirring,  and  creep  regretfully  in.  Summoning 
all  his  powers  for  one  last  effort,  he  moved  his  wdngs 
a  few  times,  and  fell  before  the  entrance,  entirely 
exhausted,  and  unable  to  move  a  limb. 

The  short  day  soon  passed,  and  still  no  bees  issued 
forth.  The  sun  went  down,  but  still  the  butterfly 
was  lying  there  upon  his  side,  and  no  strength  came 
back  to  him.  The  bee  sat  in  her  cosy  cell  all  the 
night,  dreaming  of  her  hero  in  distant  lands,  while 
all  the  time  he  lay  dying  before  her  door. 

In  the  morning,  when  she  peeped  forth  to  see  what 
the  w^eather  might  be,  there  she  saw  him,  half 
covered  with  the  first  little  fall  of  snow.  Back  she 
went  in  all  haste,  and  loaded  herself  with  food,  which 
she  brought  out  to  him,  but  he  was  quite  dead,  and 
not  even  the  odor  of  the  hgney  would   revive  him, 


176  S  UN  DA  Y   STO  EIES. 

though  s^e  carefully  brushed  the  snow  from  his  still 
beautiful  wings,  and  waited  long  and  patiently  to  see 
if  the  morning  sun  would  not  bring  life  to  him. 

When  all  hope  was  over,  bitterly  did  she  mourn, 
not  only  for  the  dead  butterfly,  but  for  her  vanished 
dreams.  Had  she  been  human,  she  would  have 
remembered  the  old  saying,  "  He  that  contemneth 
small  things,  shall  fall  by  little  and  little."  As  it 
was,  she  only  felt  in  her  instinctive  way,  that  she 
had  been  right,  and  that  he  had  been  wrong. 

So  when  the  spring  came  again,  she  went  back  to 
her  work  as  cheerfully  and  contentedly  as  ever,  and 
indeed  taught  by  her  experience,  she  became  an 
example  to  all  the  rest,  of  a  happy  and  industrious 
disposition. 

No  fable  is  good  for  anything  without  a  moral,  and 
the  moral  of  this  is  plain.  It  is  folly  to  seek  for 
great  things  in  life  while  we  overlook  the  little 
ones ;  and  if  we  take  care  for  the  little  ones,  the 
great  will  follow  as  matter  of  course.  This  moral  I 
wish  you  to  apply  to  your  minds,  in  order  to  teach 
you  that  the  great  qualities  of  heart  and  soul  which 
will  make  your  lives  happy  and  successful,  and  your- 
selves respected  by  God  and  your  fellows,  —  these 
qualities  cannot  be  found  already  stored  up,  in  after 
years,  any  more  than  the  butterfly  could  find  laid  up 
for  him  a  winter's  supply  of  honey,  but  must  be  gath- 
ered little  by  little  now,  through  your  goodness  and 


FIDELITY  IX  LITTLE   THINGS.  jjy 

gentleness  in  every  day  affairs.  You  must  not  get 
the  notion  that  whenever  the  occasion  offers,  you  can 
be  just  as  great  and  noble  as  you  would  like  to  be. 

For  example,  you  all  remember  some  of  the  fright- 
ful steamship  disasters  that  have  occurred  during  the 
recent  years,  and  the  great  panic  which  has  seized 
upon  many  of  the  passengers,  when  they  were 
brought  face  to  face  with  death  ;  and  I  dare  say  some 
of  you  have  thought,  "  if  I  had  been  there,  how  brave 
and  calm  I  should  have  been,"  or,  "  if  I  had  been  one 
of  the  men,  I  should  have  thought  of  just  the  right 
thing  at  the  right  moment,  and  saved  a  great  many 
lives."  Now  that  depends  upon  how  brave  and  clear- 
headed you  are  in  small  emergencies.  If  you  get 
easily  frightened  by  little  things,  the  chances  are 
that  you  would  be  the  very  last  person  to  withstand 
any  great  shock,  no  matter  how  much  you  may 
admire  courage.  If  you  learn  to  be  brave  in  slight 
dangers,  then  you  may  expect  not  to  be  cowardly,  if 
you  are  called  upon  to  stand  in  great  peril. 

So  you  need  to  cultivate,  to  store  up  as  it  were, 
all  great  and  good  qualities  of  mind,  and  then  you 
will  be  ready  for  whatever  may  come  to  you.  You 
must  store  them  up  for  yourselves,  if  you  would  have 
them  at  all.  God  has  made  it  necessary  for  us  all  to 
work  for  them,  as  most  men  have  to  v-/ork  for  their 
daily  bread,  and  we  can  get  them  only  little  by  little. 
This  is  what  Jesus  meant  when  he  said,  "  He  that 
23 


178  SUNDAY    STOBIES. 

is  faithful  in  that  which  is  least,  is  faithful  also  in 
much."  I  hope  you  will  take  pains  to  look  up  that 
text,  and  repeat  it  over  to  yourselves,  until  you  know 
it  so  thoroughly  that  you  can  never  forget  it.  If  you 
will  so  fix  the  saying  in  your  memories,  it  will  be  to 
you  always  a  reminder  that  if  ever  you  are  to  do  any- 
thing in  the  w^orld,  of  which  you  can  be  glad  and 
proud  in  after  years,  you  must  first  learn  to  do 
thoroughly,  and  as  though  God  were  watching  you, 
all  little  things. 


XIV. 

PATIENCE. 

<<  A  S  patient  as  Job,"  says  the  old  proverb.  Who 
then  was  Job,  and  why  should  he  be  called  a 
model  of  patience?  He  was  a  very  rich  man,  richer 
than  any  of  his  countrymen  ;  —  he  had  not  only 
gold  and  silver  in  abundance,  but  many  large  herds 
of  sheep,  oxen  and  camels.  His  greatest  treasure, 
however,  was  in  his  children,  whom  he  loved  and 
cared  for  with  all  a  father's  devotion.  Good  and 
prosperous  and  happy  was  Job.  A  man  who  feared 
God,  and  one  whom  God  loved.  He  had  every  rea- 
son, he  thought,  to  believe  that  God  would  keep  him 
in  happiness  and  prosperity  to  the  end  of  his  life. 

But  suddenly  one  day  a  messenger  appeared  before 
him,  to  say  that  a  band  of  robbers  had  carried  away 
all  his  oxen,  and  killed  the  servants  who  were  keep- 
ing them.  No  sooner  had  this  messenger  departed, 
than  another  came,  bringing  Job  word  that  the  light- 
ning had  fallen  upon  his  sheep  and  destroyed  them. 
While  he  was  speaking  came  a  third,  to  relate  how 
another  band  of  robbers  had  stolen  all  his  camels. 
So  the  rich  man.  Job,  found  himself  almost  instantly 
reduced  to  poverty.     But  this  was  not  the  whole  or 


i8o  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

even  the  worst  of  his  misfortunes,  for  a  fourth  mes- 
senger appeared  bearing  the  most  dreadful  tidings  of 
all.  His  sons  and  his  daughters  were  feasting  to- 
gether, when  a  hurricane  struck  the  house  in  which 
they  were  seated,  and  before  any  could  escape, -the 
building  fell,  burying  them  all,  mangled  and  killed, 
beneath  the  ruins. 

Thus  in  the  same  day.  Job  was  made  childless  and 
a  beggar.  But  he  only  said.  The  Lord  gave,  and  the 
Lord  hath  taken  away ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the 
Lord.  But  now  in  the  midst  of  his  poverty  and  his 
grief,  Job  was  smitten  with  a  most  painful  and  loath- 
some disease.  So  wretched  was  his  condition,  that 
his  wife  bade  him  curse  God,  who  had  allowed  all 
these  evils  to  fall  upon  a  just  man.  But  he  answered 
again.  Have  we  received  good  from  the  hand  of  God, 
and  shall  we  not  also  receive  evil  ? 

This  is  why  Job  is  called  the  patient  man.  He 
did  not  rebel  against  these  misfortunes  which  he 
could  not  cure,  but  submitted  quietly  to  all  his  afflic- 
tions, believing  that  God  would  do  him  right  in  the 
end.  These  things  are  hard,  said  Job,  but  I  must 
bear  them,  and  though  God  kills  me,  yet  will  I  trust 
in  Him. 

Still  he  was  not  entirely  patient,  for  afterward  he 
did  complain.  There  has  been  but  one  model  of  per- 
fect patience,  and  that  was  Jesus.  He  had  as  many 
sorrows  as  Job,  yet  did  he  never  once   complain  of 


PATIEyCE.  i8i 


the  hardness  of  his  lot  ;  never  once  fly  in  a  passion 
because  he  could  not  have  the  world  as  he  would  like 
it.  When  men  told  falsehoods  about  him  and  sought 
to  put  him  to  death,  he  never  got  angry  with  them  ; 
never  said  petulantly,  Why  will  men  be  so  cruel  and 
unjust  to  me?  When  God  suffered  his  enemies  to 
nail  him  to  the  cross,  he  did  not  accuse  God  of  nes:- 
lecting  him. 

Jesus  was  entirely  patient,  and  patience  is  one  of 
the  virtues  he  expects -in  all  who  try  to  follow  him, 
even  in  little  children. 

What  patience  is,  and  what  impatience  —  some 
of  the  ways  in  which  children  get  impatient  where 
they  ought  to  be  patient,  this  is  what  I  should  like  to 
illustrate  for  you. 

Two  little  acorns  fell  to  the  ground  together  one 
autumn,  and  together  the  wind  swept  them  into  a 
little  crevice  under  a  pile  of  rocks.  When  the 
spring  sun  warmed  the  rocks  above  them,  both 
sprouted  and  struck  their  roots  into  the  soil. 
Scarcely  had  they  begun  to  grow,  before  both  felt 
the  narrowness  of  room  given  them.  Their  heads 
pushed  against  the  unyielding  mass  of  stone  above 
them,  and  on  every  side  but  one,  their  twigs  touched 
the  wall  of  a  prison.  On  that  side  they  could  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  free  air  and  sunshine.  So  one  said 
to  the  other,  "  Come !  let  us  make  haste  to  push 
our  way  along   under  this  low  ceiling  of  rock,  and 


i82  SUNDAY  STOBIES. 

get  our  heads  into  the  open  day.  Here,  I  am  op- 
pressed by  the  darkness,  and  stifled  by  the  want  of 
air."  But  the  other  answered,  "  Patience  yet  a  little 
longer  !  Ours  is  indeed  an  uncomfortable  position. 
But  if  we  go  that  way,  we  must  creep  upon  the 
ground  and  so  deform  ourselves  for  life.  Perhaps  if 
we  wait  awhile  and  strengthen  our  roots,  Heaven  will 
open  a  way  above  us." 

But  the  first  would  listen  to  no  such  counsel.  He 
was  too  impatient  to  feel  the  sun,  and  so,  cursing  the 
folly  of  his  brother,  cursing  the  wind  which  had 
blown  him,,  when  an  acorn,  among  the  rocks,  cursing 
almost  everything  indeed,  he  bent  his  head  and  crept 
along  as  fast  as  he  could  toward  the  opening  of  his 
little  cave. 

He  was  in  such  a  hurry  that  he  could  not  think 
much  about  his  roots  in  the  soil,  and  so  grew  above 
the  ground  much  faster  than  below.  However,  he 
worked  along  till  he  got  his  head  into  daylight,  and 
then  what  did  he  find  himself  ?  A  long  naked  stem 
crowned  with  three  or  four  little  sickly  leaves.  Not 
a  very  flattering  comparison  with  the  thrifty  young 
oaks  he  found  outside  !  It  made  him  more  unhappy 
than  ever  to  see  their  beautiful  proportions,  and  gave 
him  new  reason  to  curse  the  fate  which  had  so  un- 
kindly shut  in  his  infancy  by  giant  rocks. 

In  only  one  thought  could  he  find  any  comfort. 
He  remembered   the  sad  plight  of  his  brother,  who 


PATIENCE. 


183 


had  not  the  courage  to  try  to  escape,  and  thought 
"At  least  I  am  better  off  than  he."  Meanwhile  what 
had  that  brother  been  doing  ?  As  a  cat  crouches  for 
a  spring,  gathering  her  feet  under  her,  and  making 
sure  that  she  has  firm  footing,  so  this  little  shrub 
growing  in  the  darkness,  had  sent  its  roots  deep  into 
the  ground  ;  had  crouched  and  waited  as  it  were,  till 
it  should  find  an  opening  in  the  rocks. 

At  last  one  of  its  twigs  did  find  a  little  seam, 
looking  upward  through  the  shelf  of  stone  which 
covered  it.  It  was  a  very  small  opening,  but  the 
young  oak  was  not  slow  to  improve  it.  First  it 
pushed  its  slender  trunk  as  far  as  possible  into  the 
seam,  and  then  it  grew  and  swelled  and  crowded  the 
rocks  a  little  further  apart  until  it  could  lift  its  head  a 
little  higher.  So  it  slowly  and  patiently  elbowed  its 
way,  so  to  speak,  little  by  little  prying  the  seam  into- 
a  wider  opening,  and  at  last  it  entirely  loosed  the 
great  rocks  from  its  fastenings. 

One  morning  when  the  impatient  shrub  was  try- 
ing to  shake  off  the  heavy  dew,  which  bowed  its  lean 
stem  to  the  earth,  it  heard  a  crash  behind  and  over- 
head. Looking  about  it  found  that  the  great  rock 
which  once  covered  it,  had  been  split  in  two  and  fallen 
apart,  leaving  all  its  long  body  trailing  upon  the 
ground,  exposed  to  view.  And  there  stood  its 
brother,  straight  as  an  arrow,  upright,  strong  and 
healthy.     The  wind  rustled  his  leaves,  and  he  seemed 


1 84  SUNDAY  STOIUES. 

to  sigh  with  pity,  as  he  looked  down  upon  his  weak 
companion,  and  perhaps  he  said  in  the  language  of 
trees,  "  Ah,  if  you  could  have  had  a  little  patience, 
you  would  not  now  lie  there,  hopeless  of  any  strong 
and  noble  life."  The  first  storm  twisted  the  frailer 
shrub  from  its  roots,  and  thus  it  perished.  In  its 
history  you  may  read  the  results  of  an  impatient  dis- 
position. The  other  grew  to  be  a  tall  and  stately 
tree,  and  enduring  all  storms  as  patiently  as  it  had 
worked  its  way  through  the  rock,  it  lived  for  many 
years,  in  enjoyment  and  content. 

Now  if  the  men  whom  we  read  of  in  the  Bible 
could  endure  so  many  disappointments  and  sorrows 
without  losing  their  patience  ;  if  even  a.  little  shrub 
can  slowly  and  quietly,  without  noise  or  anger,  move 
out  of  its  way  great  rocks  piled  on  top  of  it,  how 
dreadfully  ashamed  of  themselves  ought  children  to 
be,  when  they  find  themselves  screaming  with. pas- 
sion because  a  little  toy  will  not  do  what  they  want. 

I  dare  say  if  I  were  to  question  closely,  I  should 
find  some  little  girl,  who  during  this  very  past  week 
has  been  angry  with  her  doll  ;  so  angry  that  she 
cried,  because  the  poor  thing  could  not  sit  in  a  chair 
and  fold  her  hands  as  she  was  told  to  do.  Or  per- 
haps I  should  find  another,  who  after  a  long  struggle 
to  get  a  very  large  button  through  a  very  small 
button-hole,  had  given  a  twitch  and  a  growl  like  an 
angry  kitten,  and  suddenly  felt  a  longing  to  scratch 


PATIENCE. 


'8S 


somebody  or  tear  something  all  to  pieces.  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  I  found  also  a  little  girl,  who  had 
asked  for  something  that  mamma  thought  she  ought 
not  to  have,  and  who  thereupon  sat  down  on  the 
floor,  to  indulge  in  a  good  long  cry,  feeling  that 
mamma  was  the  naughtiest,  crudest  woman,  and  she 
the  most  abused  child  in  all  the  world. 

Equally  certain  I  am  that  I  could  soon  point  out 
the  boy  who  went  skating  the  other  day,  and  who 
not  being  able  to  get  his  skate  firmly  in  place  upon 
his  foot,  worked  at  it  with  numb  fingers  for  a  time, 
until  his  face  began  to  grow  very  red,  and  sharp- 
cornered  words  to  come  out  from  between  his  teeth. 
This  boy  at  last  threw  the  senseless  piece  of  iron 
with  a  great  bang  upon  the  ice,  and  only  after  having 
cuffed  and  made  miserable  a  smaller  boy  who  laughed 
at  his  vexation,  could  he  sufficiently  recover  his  tem- 
per to  take  up  the  skate  again. 

Then  you  know  there  is  the  boy,  who  was  sharpen- 
ing his  pencil  with  a  dull  knife,  and  just  as  he  had 
almost  finished  the  point,  once  and  again  the  lead 
broke  short  off  up  to  the  wood.  He,  too,  lost  his 
patience,  struck  viciously  at  the  pencil  with  the  point 
of  his  knife,  but  having  gashed  his  own  thumb  in- 
stead, threw  his  knife  one  way  and  the  pencil 
another,  kicked  the  dog,  and  with  his  thumb  in  his 
mouth  walked  forth  into  the  open  air,  feeling  that  this 
is  a  very  unhappy  world. 
24 


1 86  SUNDAY  STOBIES. 

Of  the  others  I  need  not  speak.  You  will  remem- 
ber when  you  smashed  your  top  with  your  boot-heel 
because  you  could  not  make  it  spin.  When  you 
bumped  your  head  against  the  door,  and  with  an 
angry  exclamation  turned  round  and  kicked  the  door. 
When,  because  you  thought  Miss  Dolly  was  obsti- 
nate, you  threw  her  down  and  broke  her  nose. 

You  will  all  remember  how  in  one  way  or  another 
you  have  been  impatient  with  people  or  things  about 
you,  and  said  or  done  what  you  were  afterward 
ashamed  of. 

Now  there  are  many  reasons  why  impatience,  even 
in  little  things,  is  bad,  and  patience  good.  Impa- 
tience is  always  destructive.  Anger  is  blind,  and 
Hke  an  owl  in  the  daytime,  rushes  head-foremost  at 
whatever  stands  in  its  way,  thus  doing  much  damage 
to  itself,  as  well  as  to  what  it  flies  against. 

A  fit  of  impatience  is  bad,  if  only  because  it  makes 
one  feel  like  destroying  something;  a  feeling  which 
children  too  often  yield  to  without  thinking.  It  is 
bad  because  it  leads  us  to  do  things  in  a  hurry,  which 
might  be  better  done  with  more  time.  Just  as  it  led 
the  young  oak  to  grow  all  wrong,  when  with  patience 
it  might  have  grown  like  other  trees.  It  is  bad 
because  it  makes  us  unhappy  in  ourselves  and 
unpleasant  to  our  friends.  It  is  bad  in  all  little 
things,  because  it  is  only  by  learning  to  be  patient 
under  little  disappointments  and  trials,  that  we  ever 
get  to  be  patient  at  all. 


PATIEXCE. 


187 


All  this  let  me  strive  to  impress  upon  your  minds, 
by  relating  the  adventures  of  a  bumble-bee,  which  a 
child  saw  in  a  dream.  A  certain  boy,  not  very  little 
nor  yet  very  big,  neither  foolish  nor  extremely  wise, 
was  one  day  engaged  in  carting  sand  about  his 
mother's  'flower-garden.  As  he  himself  was  driver, 
horse,  and  the  man  who  did  the  shovelling,  all  three, 
his  duties  were  very  heavy,  and  naturally  enough 
soon  made  him  feel  rather  tired.  Thus  it  happened 
that  he  began  to  get  himself,  as  a  horse,  mixed  up 
with  himself  as  a  man.  Having  to  do  both  the 
shovelling  and  the  pulling,  he  could  not  keep  the  cart 
in  the  right  road.  First  he  was  vexed,  then  he  grew 
downright  angry,  and  presently  his  mother  found  him 
in  a  perfect  fury  of  passion,  beating  the  cart  as  if  it 
w^as  to  blame. 

*'Why,"  said  she,  "my  little  boy  is  for  all  the 
world  like  the  big  bumble-bee  which  flew  in  at  the 
window  this  morning,  and  tried  to  sting  the  broom- 
stick, when  the  maid  put  him  out  again."  So  he  was 
carried  in  to  eat  his  supper,  wondering  if  he  did  look 
like  a  bee.  He  thought  about  it  a  good  deal,  and 
went  off  to  bed  thinking. 

Scarcely  had  he  fallen  asleep  when  he  began  to 
dream,  and  in  his  dream  he  not  only  looked  like,  but 
was  a  great  big  yellow  and  black  bumble-bee.  At 
first  he  was  having  a  glorious  time  buzzing  about  here 
and  there,  and  taking  a  sip  from  the  flowers  now  and 


i88  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

then.  He  was  just  diving  into  a  wild  honey-suckle, 
when  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  whizzing 
over  his  head.  "  Better  not  do  that  again,"  he  said, 
with  an  angry  growl.  But  just  as  he  settled  himself 
down  once  more,  "  whiz "  it  went  a  second  time, 
almost  touching  him.  ''  Do  that  again  and  I  '11  sting 
you,"  said  he,  in  a  great  rage,  getting  himself  ready 
for  a  fight.  "  Whiz,"  it  went  again,  and  this  time  it 
fairly  knocked  him  out  of  the  flower.  Darting  up 
into  the  air,  he  saw  a  great  ox  feeding  near,  whose 
tail  had  undoubtedly  caused  the  mischief.  Down  he 
pounced  upon  the  back  of  the  ox,  resolved  to  teach 
him  to  be  more  careful  where  he  swung  that  ungainly 
tail,  when,  "whiz"  a  fourth  time  it  came,  and  this 
time  very  nearly  killed  him.  Down  he  tumbled  into 
the  grass,  sadly  bruised,  while  the  big  ox  walked 
away  entirely  unconscious  that  there  was  a  bee 
an3^where  in  the  neighborhood. 

''Well,"  thought  the  bee,  "I  was  a  little  too  hasty 
that  time."  Then  the  scene  of  the  dream  changed. 
He  was  flying  over  a  smooth  sheet  of  water,  admiring 
his  own  reflection,  when  he  heard  a  great  rumbling 
on  the  shore,  and  cauo'ht  si2;ht  of  somethino^  flashinir 
in  the  sunlight.  As  he  flew  towards  it,  he  saw  that 
it  was  a  mill-wheel  slowly  turning,  for  although  in  his 
dream  he  felt  like  a  bee,  he  saw  with  his  usual  eyes. 
Being  interested  in  the  sight,  he  alighted  upon  a 
beam  just  above  the  wheel,  to  watch   it  for  a  time. 


PATIENCE. 


Presently  up  dashed  a  spray  of  water,  and  filled  his 
eyes.  Indeed,  only  by  hastily  drawing  back  did  he 
avoid  being  thoroughly  drenched. 

"Do  you  mean  to  insult  me.?"  asked  he,  crossly. 
But  the  mill-wheel  answered  never  a  word.  Up  came 
the  spray  again  and  again,  and  each  time  the  bee 
grew  more  enraged,  until  at  last  he  could  endure  it 
no  longer.  ''But,"  thought  he,  "I  shall  not  get 
caught  as  I  was  before.  I  shall  wait  for  a  good 
chance,  and  then  I  will  show  that  wheel  that  a  bee  is 
not  to  be  trifled  with.  So,  after  a  minute,  he  saw  his 
opportunity  and  darting  at  one  of  the  shining  buckets, 
began  stinging  away  most  industriously.  But  the 
wheel  turned  him  under,  and  the  first  thing  he  knew, 
down  came  a  torrent  of  ice-cold  water,  which  washed 
him  of"f  into  the  stream. 

There,  despite  all  his  floundering,  he  was  helpless. 
The  little  fish  jumped  at  him  and  made  savage  bites 
at  his  legs ;  his  wings  were  so  heavy  with  wet  that  he 
could  hardly  move  them,  and  he  was  half  numbed 
with  cold.  Whirling  round  and  round,  down  he 
went  with  the  current.  He  just  caught  sight  of  a 
big  trout  rushing  at  him  with  open  mouth,  when  a 
wave  lifted  him  up  to  a  little  rock,  and  left  him  there, 
with  a  shivering  body  and  a  very  sour  temper. 

But  before  he  had  time  fairly  to  dry  himself  in  the 
sun,  on  went  the  dream,  and  so  on  went  the  bee. 
Away  he  flew  in  his  zig-zag  fashion,  angry  with  all 


190 


SUN  J)  AY   S  TOBIES. 


the  world.  Literally  he  was  mad  as  a  wasp,  as  the 
old  saying  is.  He  wished  that  everybody  and  every- 
thing were  rolled  up  into  one  body,  and  that  he  could 
sting  and  sting  and  sting,  until  he  stung  it  to  death. 
He  flew  in  the  face  of  dogs  ;  buzzed  about  the  heads 
of  children  ;  frightened  everybody  he  could,  and  was 
angrier  than  ever,  when  he  found  that  a  lamp-post 
wouldn't  get  scared. 

Finally  he  found  an  open  window,  and  in  he  rushed 
to  see  if  he  could  do  any  damage  there.  The  room 
was  empty,  and  after  circling  round  it  a  few  times, 
he  dashed  .at  the  window  again.  But  he  had  come  in 
through  the  lower  sash,  which  was  raised,  and  he  now 
attempted  to  go  out  through  the  upper  half,  which 
was  closed.  The  consequence  was  that  he  came 
with  a  great  thud  against  the  glass,  and  fell  stunned 
and  senseless  to  the  floor.  As  soon  as  he  came  to 
himself  again  he  cried  out,  "  Who  struck  me  ?  Let 
me  see  who  it  was  ;  I'll  teach  them  a  lesson."  But 
no  one  appeared,  and  once  more  he  attacked  the 
glass.  He  could  see  right  through  ;  of  course  he 
could  fly  through  ;  so  he  reasoned.  Up  and  down, 
from  side  to  side  of  the  window  pane,  he  buzzed  and 
pushed,  and  beat  his  wings,  until  he  was  forced  to 
stop  and  rest.  But  if  his  strength  gave  out,  his 
temper  kept  hot,  and  he  was  just  about  to  try  it 
again,  when  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  the  maid. 
Cautiously  she  approached  him,  holding  up  the  brush 
end  of  her  broom. 


PATIENCE.  igi 


Now  the  boy  in  his  dream  knew  perfectly  that  she 
wished  him  to  chng  to  it  till  she  could  put  him  out  of 
the  window.  But  still  he  had  all  the  feelings  of  a 
bee,  and  in  his  blind  rage  he  flew  at  the  broom.  He 
didn't  seem  to  hurt  that  very  much,  and  catching 
sight  of  a  hand  upon  the  handle,  made  a  dash  toward 
that,  and  that  he  did  hurt.  With  a  scream  of  pain, 
the  maid  threw  him  to  the  floor,  where  she  beat  him 
with  her  duster  until  he  could  not  stir,  and  she  had 
just  raised  her  foot  to  make  a  finish  of  him,  when 
the  dream  vanished,  and  the  boy  found  himself  wide 
awake,  sitting  bolt  upright  in  bed. 

What  do  you  think  he  did  .-^  Well,  he  laid  directly 
down  again  to  think  over  the  dream.  And  the  more 
he  thought,  the  more  certain  it  became  that  his 
mother  was  right  in  saying  he  was  like  a  bumble  bee  ; 
and  that  if  the  bee  could  have  had  a  little  more 
patience,  and  kept  his  temper,  all  his  misfortunes 
would  have  been  avoided. 

This  is  the  lesson  I  should  like  to  leave  with  you. 
Besides  being  wicked,  it  is  foolish  to  get  so  easily 
vexed  with  little  troubles,  and  to  act  as  if  whatever 
crosses  your  wishes  were  done  purposely  to  spite 
you.  If,  when  you  get  impatient,  and  feel  like  doing 
something  desperate  to  somebody,  you  will  stop  long 
enough  to  remember  what  a  ridiculous  figure  the  bee 
made,  trying  to  sting  the  water-wheel,  or  break  the 
n'indow-pane   by  bumping  his   soft   mite  of  a  head 


ig2  SUNDAY    S TOBIES. 

against  it,  I  am  sure  you  will  see  how  much  you  are 
like  him,  and  all  your  impatience  will  end  in  a  laugh. 
By-and-by,  when  you  grow  older,  and  life's  harder 
disappointments  come  upon  you,  you  will  realize  how 
god-like  is  the  virtue  of  patience,  and  be  very  thank- 
ful if  in  these  young  days  you  have  taken  pains  to 
cultivate  it. 


■XV. 

SINCERITY. 

For  our  rejoicing  is  this,  the  testimony  of  our  conscience,  that  in 

simplicity  and  godly  sincerity,  not  with  fleshly  wisdom, we 

have  had  our  conversation  in  the  world.     2  Cor.  i.  1 2. 

^  I  ^HIS  text  contains  some  hard  words,  but  it  has 
really  a  very  plain  and  simple  meaning.  Paul 
tells  the  Church  at  Corinth,  (to  whom  he  is  writing,) 
that  the  Christians  rejoice  because  they  have  walked 
among  men  in  simplicity  and  sincerity,  not  in  fleshly 
wisdom. 

By  fleshly  wisdom  I  suppose  he  means  such 
cunning  instincts  as  cats  and  wolves  and  tigers  have  ; 
wisdom  to  lay  secret  plans  and  plots  to  accomplish 
some  selfish  purpose. 

Men  are  very  shrewd  in  devising  schemes  by 
which  to  get  the  better  of  their  fellows  ;  but  after  all 
they  only  copy  the  feathered  and  four-footed  tribes. 
The  hunter  makes  a  little  raft,  covering  it  over  with 
green  boughs,  in  which  he  hides  himself,  and  floats 
down  the  river  upon  it,  into  the  midst  of  a  flock  of 
wild  ducks.  Is  he  not  very  like  your  cat,  who  creeps 
stealthily  through  the  tall  grass,  till  she  gets  near 
enough  to  spring  upon  an  unsuspecting  robin  .^  The 
25 


1^4  SUN  BAY  STORIES. 

cat  has  as  much  of  this  instinctive  or  fleshly  wisdom 
in  her  way,  and'is  no  more  cruel  than  the  man. 

When  you  children  have  grown  older,  and  mingled 
more  with  the  world,  you  will  find  there  are  not  only 
hunters  of  birds  and  beasts,  but  hunters  of  men, — 
people  who  seek  by  secret  arts  and  tricks  to  entrap 
their  fellows.  Indeed  there  are  some  people  who 
find  it  hard  work  to  speak  or  act  the  plain  and  open 
truth,  even  when  there  is  nothing  to  lose  by  it. 

After  pussy  has  caught  and  killed  a  mouse,  she 
often  drops  it  upon  the  ground,  and  going  away  a 
few  steps,  creeps  round  and  round  it,  making  believe 
that  it  is  still  alive,  and  that  she  is  once  more  having 
the  pleasure  of  catching  it. 

So  there  are  people  who  love  to  make  believe  that 
they  are  carrying  out  some  deeply-laid  plot,  and  hunt- 
ing some  secret  game,  even  when  they  have  nothing 
to  gain  by  secret  methods. 

It  is  such  people  as  these,  among  others,  I  suppose, 
whom  Paul  had  in  mind  when  he  spoke  of  those  who 
trusted  in  "fleshly  wisdom."  He  rejoiced  that  the 
Christians  were  not  like  them.  They  had  never  any 
creeping  or  hiding  to  do.  All  the  world  could  see 
where  they  went,  and  what  they  intended.  They  had 
no  occasion  to  utter  a  lie,  either  in  word  or  act,  but 
walked  always  in  simplicity  and  sincerity. 

So  then  all  those  long  words  mean  just  this;  that 
the  true  Christian  does  nothing  which  he  is  afraid  or 
ashamed  to  have  others  know  about. 


SINCERITY.  If)  3 


He  is  glad  and  content,  because  instead  of  doing 
or  having  done  anything  which  he  fears  others  may 
find  out  about  him,  he  means  only  good,  and  need 
never  hide  that  meaning  away  from  the  world's 
knowledge.  This  is  sincerity ;  to  speak  and  act 
nothing  but  the  truth. 

There  are  times  when  it  may  not  be  well  to  speak 
all  that  we  know  or  believe  to  be  true,  but  there  is 
never  any  time  when  it  is  well  to  speak  what  we 
know  to  be  untrue. 

There  are  people  who  never  make  any  secret  of 
their  thoughts,  however  much  pain  they  may  give  to 
others,  and  that  they  call  sincerity.  By  such  people 
it  is  often  said  that  politeness  forces  people  to  be 
insincere. 

That  is  a  very  bad  idea  to  get  into  children's  minds, 
for  they  are  sure  to  try  to  be  polite,  and  they  ought 
not  to  be  made  to  feel  that  good  manners  involve 
untruthfulness. 

If  your  playmate  has  an  unlovely  face,  you  are 
insincere  if  you  try  to  flatter  him  by  telling  him  that 
he  is  handsome.  Politeness  only  requires  that  you 
should  say  nothing  about  it. 

If  some  one  by  accident  steps  on  your  foot,  you  try 
to  suppress  all  expressions  of  pain,  because  you  know 
it  makes  another  feel  badly  to  think  that  he  has  seri- 
ously hurt  you.  But  this  keeping  back  something 
that  is  in  your  own   mind,   out  of    consideration   for 


ig6  SUNDAY    STORIES. 

the  feelings  of  others,  is  very  different  from  telling 
falsehoods  for  the  purpose  of  deceiving.  We  must 
not  think  that  in  true  politeness  there  is  insincerity, 
nor  must  we  allow  ill-bred  people,  who  give  offense 
by  needlessly  showing  their  dislikes  for  others,  to 
claim  for  themselves  the  virtue  of  sincerity. 

I  suppose  all  the  world  knows  well  enough  that  it 
is  wrong  to  tell  falsehoods.  A  great  many  people, 
however,  seem  to  think  tliat  something  is  to  be 
gained  by  deceit ;  and  what  I  want  to  teach  you  here 
is  that  in  the  end  people  never  gain,  but  always  lose, 
through  insincerity. 

It  is  not  only  wrong  but  foolish  to  tell  falsehoods  ; 
and  to  impress  this  truth  upon  your  memory,  I 
propose  to  relate  to  you  a  fable. 

You  know  there  are  many  fables  about  the  fox, 
and  I  dare  say  you  have  read  not  a  few  of  them. 
They  all  relate  how  Master  Fox,  by  his  secrecy,  his 
cunning,  and  his  power  to  deceive  others,  gets  a  very 
good  living  without  labor,  and  without  injury  to  him- 
self. 

As  for  instance,  there  is  the  fable  of  the  Fox  and 
the  Crow.  Sir  Knight  of  the  Bushy  Tail,  spies  a 
crow  sitting  in  a  tree,  holding  in  her  beak  a  very  nice 
bit  of  cheese.  At  once  the  fox  begins  to  flatter  her. 
Though  he  knows  that  she  cannot  sing,  he  praises 
her  angelic  voice,  and  begs  of  her  to  give  him  a  song. 

At  last,  forgetting  the  cheese,  she  opens  her  mouth 


SINCERITY.  igy 


to  caw,  when  down  falls  the  morsel,  which  the  fox 
was  after,  and  he  runs  off  with  it  in  high  glee.  The 
inference  is  that  a  smooth  tongue  which  can  tell 
shrewd  falsehoods,  is  able  to  satisfy  all  its  owner's 
wants. 

A  smooth  tongue  undoubtedly  does  a  good  deal  of 
mischief  sometimes,  but  still  there  are  not  so  many 
fools  like  the  crow,  in  the  \yorld,  as  flatterers  and 
deceivers  are  apt  to  think,  and  fhey  do  not  always 
have  so  easy  a  time  as  they  look  for. 

There  is  another  side  of  the  history  of  Master 
Fox,  which  I  propose  to  show  you  ;  hoping  thereby 
to  make  you  see  that  a  falsehood,  whether  acted  or 
spoken,  is  always  the  longest  and  hardest,  and  not 
the  shortest  and  surest  way  to  gain  one's  object;  and 
that  those  who  begin  by  deceiving  others,  are  sure  to 
end  by  injuring  themselves. 

At  a  certain  time,  not  very  long  ago,  and  in  a 
certain  wood  not  far  from  a  large  farm,  lived  the  fox 
who  is  to  be  the  hero  of  this  story.  He  was  like  all 
the  rest  of  his  tribe  about  whom  the  fables  tell.  He 
had  the  same  long  sharp  nose,  bright  eyes  and  bushy 
tail  ;  the  same  power  and  love  of  de(?eiving  others, 
and  the  same  taste  for  a  sfood  fat  o-oose,  that  have 
distinguished  all  his  ancestors. 

One  bright  morning  this  fox  came  out  of  his  hole 
with  his  tail  very  smartly  brushed,  and  set  out  for  a 
day's  stroll.      He  was  bent  both  upon   business  and 


SUNDAY   STORIES. 


pleasure.  He  hoped  to  have  a  httle  fun  out  of  some- 
body, and  also  to  discover  a  roost  which  might  be 
comfortably  robbed  after  nightfall. 

As  he  walked  quietly  along,  every  bird  took  wing 
at  the  first  hint  of  his  approach  ;  nor  with  all  his  art 
could  he  get  one  of  them  into  conversation.  They 
perched  upon  the  very  highest  branches  of  the  trees ; 
stopped  all  their  chattering,  and  eyed  him  with  fear 
and  distrust  till  he  had  passed  on  out  of  sight.  For 
whether  it  be  fox  or  man,  nobody  likes  to  have  any- 
thing to  say  to  one  who  is  known  to  be  false  and 
treacherous. 

The  disdain  of  the  birds  made  the  fox  feel  rather 
mean  and  cross  ;  and  he  went  on  muttering  about  the 
stupid  things  who  couldn't  say  a  civil  word  to  a 
gentleman.  Presently  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the 
wood  which  bordered  upon  a  sheep -pasture,  and 
there,  not  far  away,  discovered  a  flock  of  sheep, 
quietly  grazing. 

There  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  have 
walked  boldly  out  of  the  wood  and  across  the  field, 
through  the  very  midst  of  them.  They  were  not 
afraid  of  him,*  nor  he  of  them.  But  the  fox  had  a 
habit  of  skulking,  and  disliked  an  open  field.  So  he 
began  picking  his  way  through  the  thicket  of  briars 
which  lined  the  fences,  hoping  to  escape  observ^ation. 

It  chanced  that  one  of  the  old  ewes  was  led  toward 
the  fence  to  look  after  a  frisky  young  lamb  which 


SINCERITY.  J  go 


gave  her  much  trouble,  and  hearing  a  rusthng  in  the 
thicket,  she  looked  up  just  in  time  to  catch  a  faint 
glimpse  of  the  fox,  creeping  through  a  thin  spot  in 
the  bushes.  Her  eyesight  was  none  of  the  best, 
while  her  fears  were  great;  and  instantly  the  idea 
took  possession  of  her  that  she  had  seen  a  wolf.  So 
she  at  once  set  up  a  pitiful  bleating,  and  with  all  the 
speed  she  could  muster,  ran  back  toward  the  flock. 

This  of  course  alarmed  the  rest,  and  in  much  less 
time  than  I  take  to  tell  it,  the  air  was  filled  with  a 
chorus  of  daas,  and  fifty  little  woolly  tails  were 
bobbing  up  and  down,  as  their  owners  went  scurry- 
ing across  the  smooth  turf. 

The  farmer,  who  was  at  work  in  the  next  field, 
heard  the  commotion,  and  came  running  with  his  dog. 
A  search  was  made  for  the  cause  of  |,he  fright,  and 
before  the  fox  could  get  back  into  the  wood,  the  dog 
had  found  his  trail,  and  was  after  him  at  full  speed. 

Now  a  fox  does  not  like  to  lead  a  dog  straight  to 
his  burrow,  but  runs  in  circles  ;  and,  on  the  top  of 
stone  walls,  will  make  all  manner  of  sharp  turns  and 
twists,  in  the  hope  of  throwing  his  pursuer  off  the 
scent. 

But  in  this  instance  it  was  all  in  vain.  The 
dog  gained  so  fast,  and  pressed  so  close  upon 
him,  that  he  was  forced  to  look  for  shelter.  The  doo- 
was  at  his  very  heels,  when  he  spied  a  woodchuck's. 
hole  at  a  little  distance,  which  he  had  just  time  to  ■ 


200  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

gain.  Down  he  plunged,  but  the  opening  was  rather 
small,  and  in  squeezing  through,  he  left  his  bushy 
tail  for  a  moment  exposed.  This  the  dog  seized,  and 
pulled  one  way  ;  the  fox  dug  his  toes  into  the  ground 
and  pulled  the  other.  But  a  tail  was  not  made  for  a 
rope.  It  broke  in  two  under  the  strain,  leaving  the 
fox  to  pull  in  his  wounded  stump,  and  the  dog  to  paw 
and  bark  impatiently  outside. 

While  he  is  trying  to  dig  out  his  rascal  prey,  let  us 
pause  long  enough  to  remark  that  the  fox  got  himself 
into  this  sad  scrape  by  his  habit  of  skulking  secretly 
behind  fences  and  through  bushes.  If  he  had  openly 
shown  himself  to  the  sheep,  they  would  not  have 
been  alarmed  ;  the  farmer  would  have  kept  on  at  his 
work,  and  the  dog  would  have  continued  his  nap. 

It  is  amoi-^  people,  just  as  it  is  among  animals. 
They  are  afraid  of  a  hypocrite,  an  insincere  person, 
any  one  who  seems  to  want  to  hide  himself,  or  to 
have  some  secret  way.  Though  he  may  not  mean 
them  any  more  harm  than  the  fox  did  to  the  sheep, 
he  excites  their  fears,  and  soon  finds  the  hounds  of 
hate  and  suspicion  upon  his  track. 

But  to  return  to  the  fox.  As  he  descended  into 
the  hole,  it  broadened  into  a  little  room,  and  at  the 
farther  end  sat  the  owner,  very  angry  at  this 
intrusion. 

*'  A  nice  mess  you  have  got  me  into,"  said  the 
woodchuck  to  the  fox.      "  Here  my  fine  house  will  be 


SINCERITY.  2  01 


ruined  by  that  great  dog,  and  it  is  more  than  likely 
that  he  will  dig  us  both  out  and  eat  us  up.  At  any 
rate,  we  shall  be  shut  up  here  till  we  are  nearly 
starved." 

"  Calm  yourself,  my  good  sir,"  said  the  fox.  *'  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  you  shall  not  suffer 
on  my  account.  I  will  myself  defend  you.  The  dog 
shall  reach  you  only  over  my  dead  body ;  and  having 
my  bones  to  pick,  he  will  be  satisfied." 

This  is  what  he  said.  But  he  thought,  ''  If  worst 
comes  to  worst,  I  can  make  a  meal  out  of  you ; 
though  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  your  teeth  would  be 
troublesome." 

Well,  all  day  the  dog  snuffed  and  dug  above  them, 
but  there  weYe  so  many  roots  in  the  way  that  he 
made  little  progress.  Towards  evening  the  farmer 
came,  and  after  staying  a  little  while  he  and  his  dog 
went  away  together.  No  sooner  were  they  out  of 
hearing  than  the  fox  attempted  to  crawl  forth.  But 
at  the  entrance  of  the  cave  he  found  a  large  trap, 
over  which  he  could  not  pass  without  springing  it. 

"  Lucky,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  that  I  did  not  kill 
the  woodchuck,  for  I  must  make  him  go  out  first;  he 
will  spring  the  trap  and  drag  it  out  of  my  way." 

Returning  to  the  woodchuck  he  put  on  his  blandest 
smile  and  said  :  "  Now  my  dear  friend,  you  shall  go 
out  and  get  your  supper.  The  danger  is  over,  and 
26 


SUNDAY   S TOBIES. 


you  will  be  entirely  safe ;  as  for  me,  I  think  I  will  first 
take  a  nap." 

But  the  woodchuck  was  a  gruff  old  fellow,  and  he 
replied  :  '*  As  for  you,  I  think  you  should  take  your- 
self off  and  leave  me  to  sleep.  I  have  no  appetite, 
and  do  not  propose  to  go  out  for  the  present." 

"  In  truth,"  replied  the  fox,  "  I  should  like  to  go, 
but  you  see  this  wound  in  my  tail  !  It  pains  me 
dreadfully,  and  I  fear,"  said  he,  as  he  sunk  down 
upon  his  back,  "  I  fear  I  shall  die  unless  I  get  relief." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  woodchuck,  "  rather  a  sudden 
attack,  I  should  think." 

But  the  fox  continued  groaning  and  rolling  his 
eyes,  as  if  in  mortal  agony.  So  that  at  last  his  com- 
panion began  to  pity  him,  and  was  moved  to  ask  if 
he  could  do  anything  for  his  relief. 

"  I  know  of  but  one  thing,"  replied  the  fox.  *'  If  I 
had  some  leaves  of  the  gentian,  that  I  think  would 
cure  me.  But  you  needn't  go  for  them,"  gasped 
he,  "  I  am  now  so  nearly  dead  that  I  shouldn't  live 
till  you  returti."  So  saying  he  stiffened  himself  out 
with  an  awful  groan  and  seemed  indeed  to  be  passing 
away. 

The  woodchuck  no  longer  hesitated,  but  sprang  to 
the  entrance  of  his  cave.     Beinof  much  smaller  than 

o 

the  fox,  he  could  leap  where  the  other  could  only 
crawl,  and  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  he  cleared  the 
trap  at  a  bound  before  he  could  check  his  speed. 


siycEnri'Y.  203 


The  sight  of  the  trap,  however,  made  him  suspect 
some  plot,  and  as  he  turned  about,  there  was  the  fox 
poking  his  nose  out  after  him  to  see  if  the  way  was 
clear. 

*'  Oh  !  Sir  Knave,"  said  the  woodchuck,  ''  you  are 
better,  I  see ;  your  trick  has  failed  to  work.  I  have 
the  honor  to  wish  you  good  night  and  speedy  deliv- 
erance." So  saying  he  turned  about  and  trotted 
away. 

It  was  a  long  while  before  the  fox  escaped.  Day 
after  day  came  the  farmer,  until  at  last  he  concluded 
that  the  burrow  must  be  empty,  and  took  his  trap 
away.  Then  the  prisoner  came  forth,  poor  and 
dejected,  starved  almost  to  the  shadow  of  his  former 
self,  and  with  his  stump  of  a  tail  hugged  close  be- 
tween his  legs  he  sneaked  off  to  find  something  to 
eat. 

Before  going  far  he  met  a  raccoon,  a  creature 
almost  as  full  of  falsehood  and  deceit  as  himself,  but 
with  this  merit,  that  he  is  always  ready  to  help  his 
friends  in  distress. 

"  Can  you  give  me  anything  to  eat  ?  "  were  the 
first  words  with  which  the  fox  saluted  him. 

**  Certainly,"  said  the  raccoon,  "you  do  look  hun- 
gry, but  come  with  me  and  you  shall  have  a  feast." 

The  raccoon's  home  was  in  a  hollow  tree,  and  his 
larder  was  always  well  supplied.  Since  the  fox  could 
not  climb,  he  brought  down  to  him  a  plentiful  supply 


204 


SUNDAY   S  TOE  IE  8. 


of  young  chickens,  till  the  fox  had  eaten  all  he 
wanted.  Then  with  many  promises  to  return  the 
favor  if  ever  he  found  opportunity,  Master  Fox  took 
his  departure. 

But  at  once  he  began  to  cast  about  in  his  mind  for 
some  scheme,  by  which  to  get  the  raccoon  out  of  the 
way  and  secure  his  store  of  food.  So  absorbed  was 
he  in  this  matter,  that  he  rambled  on  without  taking 
any  notice  of  things  about  him,  and  suddenly,  on 
turning  the  corner  of  a  fence,  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  the  dog.  Taken  so  unawares,  he  trembled 
in  every  joint,  like  a  thief  before  a  constable. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  the  dog,  "  I  am  not 
after  you,  this  time.  But  can  you  tell  me  where  in 
this  neighborhood  lives  a  Raccoon  ?  I  should  very 
much  like  to  put  my  teeth  into  him." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  overjoyed  fox.  "  But  he 
lives  in  a  tree,  where  you  can  not  reach  him.  How- 
ever, if  you  will  meet  me  at  this  place  to-morrow  at 
sundown,  I  will  conduct  you  thither,  and  engage  to 
entice  the  raccoon  out  of  his  castle." 

The  bargain  was  concluded,  and  tlie  fox  ran 
quickly  back.  It  chanced,  however,  that  a  magpie 
overheard  the  conversation,  and  flying  before,  told  it 
all  to  the  raccoon  before  the  fox  arrived. 

Great  was  the  raccoon's  indignation,  but  he 
resolved  to  see  if  he  could  not  outwit  his  false 
friend  at  his  own  crame. 


SINCERITY.  205 


"  My  dear  friend,"  began  the  fox,  upon  his  return, 
"  little  did  I  think  I  could  so  soon  return  your  kind- 
ness. But  I  have  just  met  a  brother  fox,  who  is 
attached  to  the  court  of  the  Lion  King,  and  he  offers 
me  a  very  fine  situation  in  the  King's  employ.  I  told 
him  I  would  much  rather  you  should  have  the  place, 
and  spoke  of  your  cleverness  in  such  warm  terms 
that  he  has  consented  to  take  you,  and  will  call  for 
you  to-morrow  at  nightfall." 

'*  How  very  good  of  you,"  said  the  raccoon,  with 
well-affected  gratitude.  '' I  shall  be  rejoiced  to  go  ; 
and  as  I  shall  not  want  my  store  of  provisions,  I  will 
turn  them  over  to  you,  provided  you  will  bring  a  rope 
with  w^hich  I  can  draw  you  up  to  them.  You  can 
easily  jump  down  again,  after  they  are  exhausted." 

The  fox  was  filled  with  glee  at  the  success  of  his 
scheme.  A  little  after  the  appointed  hour,  just  as  it 
grew  too  dark  to  distinguish  clearly,  he  was  on  the 
spot  with  the  dog  and  the  rope. 

"  Methinks  your  friend  is  rather  large  for  a  fox," 
said  the  raccoon,  as  he  peeped  from  his  hole. 

"■  He  is  very  large,"  said  the  fox.  *'  That  is  owing 
to  the  good  living  they  have  at  Court.  But  he  is 
impatient  to  begin  his  journey  ;  are  you  ready  ? " 

"  As  soon  as  I  have  drawn  you  up,"  was  the  reply. 
So  saying,  raccoon  came  down  the  tree  to  take  the 
end  of  the  rope,  which  the  fox  reached  up  to  him. 

"  Now  then,"  said  he,  after  he  had  wound  the  rope 
round  a  limb,  "  put  your  body  into  the  noose." 


2o6  SUNDAY  STORIES. 

No  sooner  said  than  clone.  The  raccoon  drew 
him  up  till  his  feet  were  all  off  the  ground,  and  then 
tied  the  rope  fast  and  left  him  hanging. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  said  the  fox. 

''  It  means,"  replied  the  raccoon,  "  that  I  know 
your  game.  *'  Sir  bailiff  Dog,  you  will  not  get  me 
this  time,  and  you  might  as  well  make  a  meal  of  the 
fox." 

This,  however,  the  dog  disdained  to  do,  and 
marched  away.  The  raccoon  turned  in  and  went  to 
sleep,  and  before  morning,  the  fox  was  strangled  to 
death. 

That,  my  dear  children,  is  the  other  side  of  the 
history  of  Reynard  the  Fox,  which  is  not  often  told 
in  the  fables. 

It  is  by  far  the  truer  side  of  the  history  of  all  who 
undertake  to  lead  insincere  and  crafty  lives,  rather 
than  be  honest  and  straightforward.  It  is  true  of 
each  one  of  us  in  some  degree,  if  ever  we  allow  our- 
selves to  lay  plans  as  this  fox  did,  for  the  deception 
of  others. 

You  .can  not  tell  so  smooth  a  lie  that  God  will  not 
detect  it ;  and  sooner  or  later,  every  falsehood  is  sure 
to  be  discovered.  People  will  love  you  only  when 
they  find  you  earnest  and  sincere,  and  know  they 
can  depend  upon  your  word  as  the  truth.  Let  them 
once  find  out  that  one  whom  they  know,  child  or 
grown-up    person,    has    played    the    hypocrite    and 


SIXCEniTY.  207 


deceived  them,  instantly  they  begin  to  be  afraid  of 
that  person.  It  is  impossible  for  him  to  prosper  or 
be  happy  long,  anywhere,  because  nobody  will  trust 
him. 

Be  sure  of  this,  that  the  truth  is  always  the  safest 
and  surest  way  to  reach  what  you  want ;  or,  if  you 
want  any  thing  that  can  only  be  gained  by  some 
knavish  trick,  it  is  best  that  you  should  not  have  it. 
For  instance,  if  you  wish  to  go  to  some  place,  and 
think  your  parents  will  not  let  you  go  unless  you  tell 
them  a  falsehood,  it  is  better  for  your  happiness  that 
you  should  stay  at  home,  than  to  run  the  risk  of 
losing  their  confidence  by  telling  an  untruth. 

Be  sincere  in  all  your  words  and  deeds  ;  then  you 
will  never  have  cause  to  hang  your  head  for  shame. 
You  will  never  get  caught,  like  the  Fox,  in  your  own 
trap,  if  you  never  set  a  trap  for  some  one  else. 

Be  sincere  ;  then  men  will  respect  you.  God  in 
heaven  will  love  you,  and  will  think  you  worthy  to  be 
counted  a  disciple  of  Jesus. 


•  XVI. 
EVERLASTING  LIFE. 

The  grass  withereth,  the  flower  fadeth  ;  but  the  word  of  our  God 
shall  stand  forever. —  Isaiah,  ii.  8. 

^  I  ^HE  autfimn  is  sometimes  called  a  sad  season, 
because  all  the  beautiful  summer  then  goes 
away  from  us ;  and  then  a  great  many  sermons 
preached  about  it,  even  sadder  than  the  autumn 
itself.  I  might,  if  I  chose,  take  some  such  text  as, 
We  all  do  fade  as  a  leaf,  or.  All  flesh  is  grass,  and  as 
the  flower  of  the  field  so  it  perisheth  ;  and  perhaps  I 
should  succeed  in  making  you  quite  sorrowful.  But 
I  do  not  desire  to  make  you  sad,  only  a  little  bit 
sober  and  reflective. 

You  see  the  difference  !  You  are  sad  when  you 
meet  with  some  loss,  as  when  a  pet  animal  dies,  or  a 
pretty  toy  gets  broken.  You  are  sober  and  reflec- 
tive, when  you  look  up  into  the  clear  heavens  at  the 
brilliant  stars,  and  think  how  very,  very  far  away 
they  must  be,  and  wonder  whether  there  are  children 
up  there  thinking  and  feeling  as  you  do  down  here. 
I  want  to  make  you  feel  something  as  you  do  then,  to 
show  you  where  you  stand,  and  lead  you  to  think  a 
little  about  what  is  before  you. 


EVERLASTING   LIFE. 


209 


One  habit  of  childhood,  as  I  know  from  remem- 
brances of  my  own  childhood,  is  to  postpone  reflec- 
tion. Though,  for  that  matter,  it  is  too  often  the  habit 
of  older  people  as  well.  Yet  I  am  only  speaking  to 
the  children  here,  and  I  know  as  I  say  because  I 
have  been  a  child,  that  they  are  apt  to  put  aside  any 
question  that  troubles  them,  thinking  "there  is  time 
enough  for  that  by  and  by."  Now  every  one  who 
loves  children  will  certainly  wish  that  they  may  not 
grow  old  before  their  time.  You  cannot  be  more  of 
a  joy  to  your  parents  and  friends,  than  by  living  out 
your  bright,  happy  and  cheerful  childish  natures. 
And  yet,  I  know  it  well,  you  all  have  sober  moments. 
Do  you  not  sometimes  think  what  a  strange  world 
this  is,  and  of  what  wonderful  things  it  is  full  "^  And 
do  you  not  try  to  guess  how  it  all  came  to  be,  and 
what  it  is  all  coming  to  1  Well,  at  these  times,  when 
God  puts  such  questions  into  your  minds,  he  means 
that  you  should  think  about  them  for  yourselves  as 
best  you  are  able.  No  matter  if  you  cannot  make  it 
all  plain  and  satisfactory,  it  is  only  by  beginning  to 
think  that  you  will  ever  see  light  in  these  great  prob- 
lems. God  gives  you  many  times  very  clear  percep- 
tions of  what  is  good  and  true  and  right,  and  jf  you 
will  oftener  think  of  these  subjects  when  they  come 
into  your  minds,  I  am  sure  God  will  help  you  now, 
as  well  as  after  you  are  older,  to  arrive  at  the  truth. 

So  then  that  is  what  I  want  to  do  now,  to  make 
27 


2IO  SUNDAY   STORIES. 

you  a  little  more  thoughtful.  The  grass  withereth, 
the  flower  fadeth  ;  but  the  word  of  our  God  shall 
stand  forever.  The  Prophet,  you  see,  contrasts 
something  that  is  old  and  dying  with  something 
that  never  grows  old  and  never  dies  ;  and  in 
that  contrast  is  the  whole  force  of  his  saying. 
Perhaps  you  do  not  feel  how  much  there  is  in  such  a 
contrast  as  you  will  when  the  years  begin  to  write 
furrows  in  your  face,  and  sprinkle  your  hair  with 
grey.  I  know  that  for  you  the  season  does  not  grow 
old.  When  the  frosts  of  autumn  come,  your  eyes  are 
only  pleased  with  the  beautiful  colors,  not  pained  be- 
cause underneath  this  gorgeous  mantle,  the  skeleton 
fingers  of  the  trees  begin  to  peep  out.  It  is  to  you 
of  little  moment  that  the  summer  dies,  because  the 
winter  has  in  store  an  unceasing  round  of  sports. 
But  to  father  and  mother  this  season  brings  the 
thought  that  their  lives  are  passing  away,  just  as 
leaves  wither  and  fade.  Their  autumn  is  coming  on, 
when  they  will  be  forced  to  part  from  you  and  all  the 
things  of  this  beautiful  earth. 

Most  of  you  have  read  enough  history  to  be  famil- 
iar with  the  story  of  the  old  Spanish  adventurers 
who  came  to  this  country  when  it  was  new,  and  spent 
so  much  time  and  wasted  so  many  lives,  in  searching 
for  the  Fountain  of  Youth.  It  was  very  foolish  of 
them,  no  doubt,  to  imagine  that  there  were  any 
waters,  by  bathing  in  which,  they  could  keep  them- 
selves always  young.      But  that  they  should  want  to 


EVERLASTING  LIFE. 


find  such  a  fountain  was  natural  enough,  for  it  was 
just  this  same  want  that  everybody  feels,  for  some- 
thing they  can  keep  forever. 

You  have  all  seen,  doubtless,  the  picture  of  a 
cross,  set  firmly  into  a  rock,  and  lifted  just  above 
the  reach  of  a  boiling  tide  of  waters.  To  the  cross 
are  clinging  shipwrecked  people,  and  others  with 
arms  vainly  outstretched  toward  this  refuge,  are 
being  driven  past  to  some  horrible  dark  fate  below. 
It  is  not  altogether  a  pleasant  picture  to  look  at,  but 
it  illustrates  what  I  just  now  want  you  to  see,  the 
value  of  something  that  stands  —  that  is,  which  is  not 
swept  away  by  this  great  tide  of  change.  Not  only 
the  leaves,  but  trees  and  animals  and  men,  are  all 
brought  at  length,  into  the  dust  together.  Even  the 
great  rocks  of  the  mountains  slowly  decay  and  fall 
into  the  valleys.  We  all  want  to  find  something  that 
will  stand  without  ever  crumbling  to  pieces.  We  lay 
hold  of  objects  and  keep  them  for  a  time,  but  one 
after  another,  they  are  taken  away  from  us,  and  we 
stretch  out  our  arms  toward  something  that  neither 
the  frosts  of  autumn  nor  the  storms  of  winter, 
neither  decay,  nor  disease  nor  death  itself,  can  move. 
As  autumn  is  the  time  when  the  grass  withers  and 
the  flowers  fade,  it  brings  to  our  remembrance  how 
our  bodies  and  all  things  earthly,  will  in  the  same 
way  wither  and  fade,  and  the  great  lesson  of  that 
season  of  the  year  is  to  turn  our  thoughts  toward 
what  will  still  endure,  when  the  autumn  and  winter 


SUNBAY   STOBIES. 


of  our  lives  come  upon  us.  We  want  to  know  then, 
what  will  thus  endure  ?  What  does  the  prophet 
mean,  when  he  says,  The  word  of  our  God  shall 
stand  forever  ?  Well,  then,  since  it  is  said,  you 
remember,  that  there  are  sermons  in  sticks  and 
stones, — let  us  see  if  the  history  and  experience  of 
one  of  these  same  leaves,  now  whirled  about  by  our 
December  winds,  will  not  help  us  to  find  out  its 
meaning. 

Away  back  in  the  spring-time,  (for  does  not  that 
seem  ages  ago  ?  so  much  has  happened  since)  — 
away  back  in  the  early  spring-time,  on  the  topmost 
twig  of  the  very  highest  bough  of  a  tall  and  stately 
apple-tree,  a  little  bud,  which  for  months  had  been  in 
a  sort  of  shivering  sleep  from  the  cold,  began  in  a 
dreamy  sort  of  way  to  hear  the  robins  chirp,  and  to 
feel,  deep  down  in  its  heart,  that  the  sun's  rays  were 
getting  uncomfortably  warm  beneath  its  thick  cover- 
let. So  first  the  sleep  of  the  little  bud  began  to  be 
uneasy  and  broken.  It  stretched  itself  out,  within 
its  snug  nest,  and  pushed  its  little  green  head  into 
the  open  air,  and  then  in  an  instant  it  was  broad 
awake,  filled  with  wonder  and  surprise.  From  its 
high  perch,  it  could  look  over  all  the  neighboring 
trees,  away  beyond  the  town,  to  the  great  hazy  hills 
in  the  distance.  There  was  nothing  above  it  but  the 
deep  blue  sky,  across  which  were  lazily  sailing  white 
masses  of  stately  clouds. 

And  so  the  little  bud  looked  up  and  blinked  at  the 


EVERLASTIXG  LIFE.  213 

full  splendor  of  the  morning  sun.  Then  the  music 
of  a  bird  close  by  its  side  attracted  its  attention,  and 
when  the  bird  had  flown,  it  fell  to  watching  the 
sports  of  some  children  underneath.  Then  it  specu- 
lated much  about  the  nature  and  purpose  of  the 
carriages  dashing  past  on  the  highway,  and  laughed 
till  it  burst  its  coat,  watching  the  funny  antics  of  the 
lambs  in  the  next  field. 

Altogether,  its  first  glance  at  the  world  filled  it 
with  delight,  and  as  it  thought  What  a  beautiful, 
happy  time  I  shall  have  day  after  day,  with  nothing 
to  do  but  enjoy  the  sunshine,  and  watch  what  goes 
on  about  me  for  ever,  it  grew  a  whole  eighth  of 
an  inch  with  the  thrill  of  pleasure.  So  the  bud 
soon  became  a  tiny  leaf,  and  grew  to  know  that 
portion  of  the  world  which  it  could  see,  quite 
minutely.  It  went  through  its  first  storm  very 
bravely  and  soon  forgot  it,  in  the  new  brightness 
that  succeeded. 

But  meantime  another  little  bud  had  been  opening 
on  the  same  twig ;  and  one  morning,  the  leaf,  which 
was  not  yet  fairly  out  of  its  shell,  became  aware  of 
the  presence  of  a  white  blossom,  delicately  tinged 
with  pink.  The  first  hint  from  its  neighbor,  was  a 
breath  of  perfume,  which  the  blossom  sent  across  by 
a  passing  breeze.  The  leaf  nodded  its  acknowledg- 
ments, and  thus  the  way  was  opened  for  an  acquaint- 
ance, which  before  noon  ripened  into  intimacy. 

The  leaf  had  much  to  relate  of  what  it   had  seen, 


214  SUNDAY  STOBIES. 

being  a  little  older  than  the  blossom,  and  the  latter 
in  turn  was  moved  to  unfold  all  its  hopes  for  the 
future.  But  soon  the  leaf  began  to  contrast  its  form 
and  color  with  those  of  its  beautiful  friend,  and  find- 
ing the  comparison  result  to  its  own  disadvantage,  a 
little  bit  of  envy  sprung  up  in  its  tender  heart.  Then 
it  observed  that  the  children  now  bestowed  upon  the 
blossom  all  their  admiring  glances  ;  that  the  humming- 
birds and  the  bees  paid  it  frequent  visits,  quite  to  the 
neglect  of  the  leaf ;  so  it  began  to  be  jealous,  and  as 
is  usual,  its  envy  and  jealousy  found  vent  in  abuse. 

It  confided  to  a  robin,  that  in  its  opinion  the 
blossom  was  afflicted  with  the  most  brazen  impu- 
dence; that  it  should  henceforth  decline  ever  to 
speak  one  single  word  to  it,  and  that  he,  (the  robin), 
need  only  just  wait  until  after  the  first  shower,  to  see 
that  pretty  pink  all  faded,  if  indeed  the  whole  flower 
were  not  washed  away. 

This  was  purposely  said  in  a  loud  tone,  so  that  the 
blossom  might  overhear ;  but  it  was  very  busy,  trying 
to  make  a  small  apple,  so  it  simply  shook  out  another 
little  laugh  of  perfume,  and  went  on  with  its  work. 
However,  the  prediction  of  the  leaf  came  true,  for 
the  very  first  rain  thoroughly  drenched  the  poor 
blossom  and  scattered  it  far  and  wide. 

Then  the  leaf  was  triumphant,  and  although  it  had 
only  spoken  a  malicious  wish,  without  any  real  knowl- 
edge of  what  was  coming  to  pass,  yet  it  prided  itself 
greatly  on  the  superior  wisdom  it  had  displayed. 


EVERLASTING   LIFE.  215 

The  same  storm  blew  out  from  under  a  clump  of 
bushes,  a  bunch  of  withered  leaves,  which,  as  they 
went  rustling  and  skurrying  across  the  field,  attracted 
the  leaf's  notice.  It  was  the  first  time  it  had  looked 
upon  anything  dead,  and  it  did  not  know  what  to 
think. 

So  when  the  robin  came  back  to  see  about  the 
blossom,  he  was  asked  for  information  on  the  subject. 
Then  he  had  to  tell  the  poor  little  leaf,  that  one  of 
those  dry,  twisted  things  had  very  likely  grown  upon 
that  very  same  twig,  the  summer  before,  and  that  by 
and  by  would  come  storms  and  frosts,  when  it  too 
w^ould  grow  old  and  die,  and  be  swept  away  "  by 
chillinsf  winds. 

This  troubled  the  leaf  not  a  little,  for  a  time,  but 
presently  it  said,  Well,  I  will  have  a  good  time  while 
I  can,  anyhow  ;  and  so  dismissed  the  whole  matter. 
Then  it  fell  to  thinking  again  about  the  blossom,  and' 
being  in  a  reflective  mood,  and  glancing  toward  the 
place  which  the  blossom  had  lately  occupied,  found 
that  the  blossom  had  left  behind  it  a  funny-looking, 
little,  green  ball.  As  this  did  not  seem  to  be  nearly 
so  pretty  as  itself,  the  leaf  was  quite  ready  to  lay  aside 
all  spite,  and  enter  into  friendly  relations. 

So  the  apple  and  the  leaf  grew  together,  through 
all  the  summer  loveliness.  Together  they  suffered 
from  the  dust,  and  enjoyed  the  pattering  showers.. 
Together  they  laughed  when  the  wind  swung  them 


2i5  SUNDAY   STORIES. 

to  and  fro,  and  together  they  watched  the  busy  life 
about  them  during  the  sultry  calms. 

As  autumn  came  on,  the  apple  grew  gradually 
ruddy  and  smooth  and  full,  but  so  slowly,  that  the 
leaf's  envy  was  not  aroused,  or  perhaps  it  had  gained 
too  much  wisdom  to  make  its  envy  known. 

The  season  went  on,  until  the  farmers  had  well- 
nisfh  r]ii!>iied  harvestins;,  when  one  morninsf  the  leaf 
awoke  to  find  itself  covered  with  a  pure  white  coat, 
from  which  stood  out  multitudes  of  little  sharp 
needle-points,  reflecting  the  sun  in  a  most  dazzling 
way.  To  be  sure  it  felt  a  certain  unwonted  numb- 
ness, but  still  you  may  believe  it  was  mightily 
pleased  with  this  new  splendor.  Very  short-lived  it 
was,  however,  for  the  sun  had  hardly  looked  at  it,  when 
a  few  little  drops  of  water  trickled  away,  a  little  puff 
of  steam  went  up,  and  the  beauty  of  the  frost  had 
vanished. 

Then  it  was  that  the  leaf  perceived  the  injury  that 
had  been  done  to  it.  The  frost  was  not  severe,  and 
so  had  not  killed  it  outright,  but  its  edges  began  to 
curl  a  little,  and  then  grow  stiff  and  hard.  So  the 
leaf  turned  to  the  apple  for  sympathy,  but  behold  ! 
its  place  was  vacant,  and  there  was  nothing  but  a 
little  black  stump  to  mark  where  the  stem  had  parted. 
Away  down  below,  half  hidden  amidst  the  grasses, 
its  ruddy  face  shone  back  to  its  former  companion, 
and  there  was  a  great  ugly  bruise  upon  one  side, 
where  it  had  struck  a  bou2:h  in  its  descent.     Soon  a 


EVERLASTING   LIFE.  217 

man  came  under  the  tree  and  picked  it  up,  but  find- 
ing the  bruise,  threw  it  down  again.  At  first  the 
leaf  was  saddened  by  the  loss  of  its  friend,  but 
directly  it  began  to  feel  triumphant,  as  it  had  over 
the  blossom. 

Well,  it  thought,  the  frost  couldn't  cut  me  off  so 
easily.  My  stem  is  sound,  and  I  shall  hold  out  so 
long  that  it  isn't  worth  while  thinking  about  the  end. 
So  it  plucked  up  heart,  forgot  the  apple,  and  went  on 
enjoying  itself  as  heretofore.  But  the  nights  grew 
colder,  the  days  shorter,  and  the  winds  sharper. 
Gradually  a  yellow  tinge  spread  over  the  surface  of 
the  leaf,  and  even  crept  down  the  stem.  Still  the 
leaf  w^ould  not  allow  itself  to  think  that  it  must  die, 
but  persistently  put  the  idea  aside  and  pursued  the 
•little  round  of  pleasure  left  to  it. 

The  air  was  full  of  its  falling  fellows,  but  it  only 
laughed  to  see  them  dodge  and  twist  about  to  avoid 
tumbling  to  the  ground.  There  was  still  one  little 
green  spot  left  in  its  centre,  and  it  thought  itself 
safe,  as  long  as  it  could  retain  that.  But  even  in  the 
midst  of  its  glee  at  the  misery  of  others,  a  fierce 
blast  swept  by,  and  tore  it  from  its  fastening.  Then 
indeed  it  was  full  of  alarm.  This  way  and  that  it 
madly  flew,  to  catch  something  to  stop  its  fall.  But 
down  at  last  it  came,  right  beside  the  apple. 

"  Well,"   said  the  leaf,   **  so   here  we  are  together 
once  more,  and  almost  dead." 
28 


SUNDAY    S TOBIES. 


"  Speak  for  yourself,"  replied  the  apple,  "  for  as  for 
me,  I  shall  never  die."  *' But,"  said  the  leaf  again, 
'*  You  are  decaying  already,  and  judging  from  appear- 
ances, I  should  say  you  were  nearer  gone  than  I  am." 
**  Very  true,"  replied  the  apple,  "  but  down  in  my 
heart  I  feel  a  little  germ  of  life,  already  budding 
anew.  All  along  I  have  hoped  and  dreamed  that  it 
might  be  so,  even  from  the  time  the  blossom  left 
me  a  little  ugly  unripe  ball ;  and  now  I  know  that  I 
contain  a  seed  of  life  which  will  live  on,  though  my 
body  die,  and  will  see  the  new  spring-time,  will  bud 
and  blossom  and  bring  forth  fruit  of  its  own." 

Then  said  the  leaf,  "  Oh  !  that  I  had  been  a  blos- 
som." Just  then  a  rake  came  by,  dragging  and 
mangling  the  poor  fallen  leaves.  So  that  this  leaf 
was  very  thankful  for  a  gust  of  wind  which  hurried  it 
away,  and  lodged  it  high  up  in  the  corner  of  a  fence. 
From  thence  it  watched  the  gardener  with  terror,  as 
he  raked  together  load  after  load  and  carted  them 
into  the  hungry  flames,  until  finally,  its  turn  came. 
There  was  a  crackle  and  glow,  a  little  fierce  sputter- 
ing struggle,  as  the  heat  reached  all  the  life  left  to 
it,  then  a  pile  of  white  ashes  soon  scattered  by  the 
wind,  and  that  was  the  end  of  the  leaf  forever. 

But  the  apple  sent  a  little  sprout  into  the  earth, 
and  when  the  soft  southern  breezes  came  again, 
where  it  had  lain,  people  found  a  little  tender  shoot 
of  green.     So  they  nurtured  it  and  tended  it  until  it 


EVERLASTIXG   LIFE.  219 

grew  to  be  a  giant  tree,  and  the  birds  came  and  built 
their  nests  in  it.  The  children  for  many  summers 
played  in  its  shade,  and  ate  of  its  fruit,  and  its  help 
and  blessing  extended  to  many  of  God's  creatures. 

Now  see  you  what  stood  where  the_  leaf  had  faded  ? 
and  why  the  leaf  dried  ?  It  was  not  that  it  had  done 
anything  very  wrong,  but  because  it  neglected  to  do 
anything  very  right.  It  lived  altogether  in  the  pres- 
ent moment,  and  took  no  thought  for  a  life  beyond. 
Its  joys  were  joys  which  soon  passed  away,  but  it 
was  content  with  them,  and  took  no  pains  to  provide 
pleasures  which  could  endure.  The  blossom  too  had 
a  beauty  in  itself,  and  enjoyed  the  momer^s  as  they 
went  by,  just  as  keenly,  but  it  also  found  time  to 
grow  into  an  apple,  and  as  an  apple  to  mature  its 
seeds,  and  as  a  seed  it  found  opportunity  to  become 
a  tree. 

The  life  that  was  in  the  blossom,  stood,  that  is, 
remained  through  all  changes  ;  the  life  that  was  in 
the  leaf,  grew  old  and  perished  with  the  summer. 

You  children,  have  your  sports  and  games,  as  you 
ought  to  have,  in  which  you  take  keen  delight,  but 
will  you  try  to  remember  that  these  are  the  leaves  of 
your  lives,  and  must  soon  fade  ?  As  you  grow  older, 
many  things  in  which  you  now  have  pleasure  will  be 
laid  aside.  I  would  not  have  you  hasten  to  give 
them  up,  but  you  should  already  have  a  care  to  find 
enjoyment  in  things  which  do  not  pass  away. 


SUNDAY  S TOBIES. 


The  word  of  God  is  in  your  hearts,  even  that  word 
which,  as  the  Prophet  declares,  shall  stand  forever.  It 
tells  you  to  do  the  right,  prompts  you  to  generous  and 
unselfish  deeds,  and  fills  you  with  a  great  bounding 
joy,  when  you  have  done  something  good  and  kind. 
And  will  you  try  also  to  remember  that  these  ^re  the 
blossoms  of  your  lives  ?  The  beauty  and  joy  of  any 
one  such  act  may  soon  die  out  of  your  remembrance, 
even  as  the  blossoms  perish  on  the  tree,  but  it  will 
leave  its  fruit  behind,  and  that  fruit  will  sink  deep 
into  your  souls,  and  will  come  up  again  like  a  tree  of 
life,  to  fill  your  own  and  other  lives  with  gladness, 
even  though  every  other  source  of  joy  were  dead  to 
you. 

Thus  through  all  the  storms  of  sorrow  ;  through  all 
the  changes  between  you  and  manhood  and  woman- 
hood ;  through  all  the  trials  to  be  met  before  you 
reach  the  gate  of  heaven ;  through  the  last  great 
change  of  death,  and  on  into  the  boundless  life  be- 
yond. However  the  grass  may  wither  and  the  flow- 
ers fade,  the  word  of  God,  once  planted  in  your 
hearts,  will  stand  forever. 


THE    END. 


Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Libraries 


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